


The Lion of London

by Deadbang



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Assassin's Creed: Underworld, Character Development, Cultural Differences, F/M, Kink Exploration, Post-Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Reconciliation, Victorian Attitudes, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadbang/pseuds/Deadbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The facets of Henry Green's life start to meld together as he and Evie make plans for their wedding. In the eight years since his failed blooding, he must resist the urge to be his own harshest critic and sabotage the chances of his exile from India being lifted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Quite A Love Letter

**Author's Note:**

> In which Henry and Evie spend more time studying each other than the histories of the British Brotherhood.

January 1869

The curio shop darkened briefly as someone entered, and reflexively, Henry Green glanced upwards from the papers spread out on the counter in front of him to see his fiancée emerge from the late afternoon sun. 

He had been poring over documents they'd managed to retrieve from the Kenway mansion until a familiar gloved hand covered one of his own. Henry raised an eyebrow then straightened himself behind his counter. He smiled, lifting Evie Frye's hand to his mouth to brush his lips over her leather-clad knuckles. 

“To what do I owe the honor, Miss Frye-- Evie?” Henry amended. He still wasn't entirely used to being on a first name basis with his own fiancée, but he noted a pleased glint to her eyes when he called her by her name. 

“I missed doing research with you. I'm sure there's another Piece of Eden lurking out there...?” Evie looked pointedly at the papers and journals arrayed on the counter between them. 

“There always is,” Henry agreed, and after releasing her hand, he beckoned for Evie to join him behind the counter. At least this time, he could lean against her and enjoy the warmth between them instead of shying away from her in some semblance of propriety. 

Evie pressed an all-too-brief kiss to her fiancé's cheek as she peered over his shoulder. “I'll give Kenway some credit. He certainly had a way with words.”

“Much of what he did as a pirate was psychological in nature,” Henry murmured as he examined a page in the notebook. “Remember, they described Blackbeard as a demon and a terror, and he was all too happy to let them believe it, tying slow-burning fuses to his own hat to help the image.”

“Easier to intimidate someone into surrendering instead of possibly destroying valuable cargo with cannon fire.” Evie watched Henry's fingertip glide lightly along a sentence. 

“And in Kenway's case, he used his charisma and reputation from his days as a pirate to recruit others.” Henry glanced at Evie out of the corner of his eye. “You know, I thought of hiring a shop girl to help around here. Do you think you'd be interested in the position?”

“I might,” Evie replied, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Although you know I'd come over here anyways. What would my wage be?” 

“The usual rate is around fifty pounds a year on the high end, but that seems awfully trivial in light of the income from our various interests.” Henry got a swat on the arm for his troubles. “Or if there's something else you'd like to request instead?”

“If I work as your shop girl, then you need to work on your skills in the field. I won't have you getting captured again, worrying me, because someone caught you by surprise.” Evie was emphatically firm as she pointed out an unintended consequence of his capture by Templar guards some months back. Henry stifled an annoyed groan as he remembered their argument after his rescue. 

“Staying on the train is no longer an option then.” Henry turned a page in Edward's diary. He had a feeling that further research was futile and set it aside. Turning to face her, Henry offered a grim smile. 

Evie looked less than enthused as she regarded her fiancé. “No, it is not. You belong in the field with me, and that means you need to refresh your combat skills. Meet me at the Whitechapel fighting ring, and we'll see where you need to improve.” 

How could he refuse? Technically speaking, how could he refuse and Evie allow him to do so?

“...You drive a hard bargain, Miss Frye.” She tilted her head at the formal address. “But I believe we have come to an agreement.” Henry offered his hand to shake on the deal, but Evie took his hand in hers, using it as an anchor to pull him close and kiss him firmly. 

“Good,” she remarked as she pulled back. “While I think I'd rather enjoy assisting you with research, I would much rather see you in the field at my side.”

Henry rested his free hand on the small of her back, teasing her, “You know, I've heard that some men and women go on walks in the park together or even take carriage rides.”

“Some, yes,” she demurred as she nuzzled the crook of his neck. “And maybe we'll take walks as we scout targets, or we'll ride in a carriage as we attempt to evade pursuers.” 

Ah, the feel of her skin on his was enough to make Henry's heart skip a beat. He'd agree to nearly anything to be the recipient of her attentions. Most anything, he amended, as long as she would make those contented sounds. 

Reluctant to disturb Evie, Henry murmured, “Does Jacob know yet?”

“About the engagement? Not in so many words, but I wager he's suspicious.” Evie released his hand, toying lightly with the scarf tied loosely around his neck instead. “Have you sent the message to your parents yet?”

“Not yet. We haven't communicated much out of necessity.” Since he was technically dead in the eyes of the Indian Brotherhood, it would be suspicious for his parents to send missives to their 'dead' son. However, it didn't explain why they couldn't send a message to George Westhouse to be passed along to him. “I'm sure they'll be more than pleased to hear the news.”

“I hope so,” Evie said, settling against him as he encircled her with his arms. “I will tell Jacob that he should prepare himself for our wedding and hope that he can conduct himself appropriately.” She sighed. “No, that's unfair of me. He did well enough with the Queen's ball and the reception at the Tower of London that I shouldn't worry whether he'll take the opportunity to embarrass his sister and new brother-in-law.”

“I've seen some of the receptions from afar, but I've never attended one myself. I suppose it depends on one's station in society, but the tales of the Queen's wedding to the Prince Consort are legendary.” Henry could feel Evie's discomfort start to creep up her spine, causing her to stiffen. “You seem to favor something less formal, I take it?”

“I will call off the engagement if I have to look like a turkey trussed up for Christmas dinner.” 

Henry stifled a snicker in Evie's hair, and he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “Would you be interested in something from my country then? I'm sure Mother could bring a few items for you to choose from.”

She perked at the idea. “And what's involved with those?”

“You'd likely be wearing embroidered silk which might be a bit stiff, but it won't make you look like something we should be having for the main course at the reception,” he replied. Henry had left out the rituals and processions and exchanges of gifts, but seeing Evie Frye resplendent in silks would provide a pleasant distraction in the chaos of the day.

“I'll consider it,” Evie murmured, sounding pleasantly interested at least. “In the meantime, we should actually read these journal pages and see what we can find out. Maybe Kenway came across another Piece of Eden.”

It seemed like Henry would never escape the quest to find the Precursor artifacts. He sighed and kissed the top of her head before releasing Evie. “I suppose we should. I'd be setting a poor example for my new employee if I closed the shop to spend time with my betrothed.” 

Evie rolled her eyes and held out her hands as Henry kept Kenway's journal for himself but gathered the loose papers into a stack and gave it to Evie to go over. Much like they had before the death of Crawford Starrick, they settled into a companionable silence, occasionally leaning against each other and enjoying the thrum of electricity that passed between them. Carefully, Evie sorted through the pages until one of them caught her eye. Across the top was written, “Dear Evie,” and nothing else. 

She touched Henry's shoulder to get his attention, and his lips twitched in a half-smile before it faded as she showed him the page. “It wasn't going to be a love letter then?”

Henry looked crestfallen as he explained, “I felt I was a liability to you after being captured by the Templars. I've already failed the Brotherhood at least twice, and I couldn't stand to be the cause if you became injured because I was foolish enough to go out into the field again.”

“So you were going to leave me before you ever declared your love for me?” Evie entwined the fingers of her left hand with his right. “That's not how this is supposed to work, Henry.” She brought his hand up to her mouth to kiss it. 

“It wasn't going to just be you – I was preparing to leave the Brotherhood. How can I keep being an Assassin if I'm a liability to the people that I love?” Henry felt himself sliding into a familiar sort of despair and shook his head. “George Westhouse knocked as I began to write, and he delivered a journal from your father's library. Apparently, you'd written him about it, and he asked me to take a look.

“With what I'd found in the volume about the Shroud, how I could let you go to the vault without knowledge of what the Shroud could really do?” 

Evie held up one finger in a 'please wait' gesture, and she left the counter to draw the curtains at the front of the store, lock the door, and place a sign in the window stating that the shop was closed. Finally, as she leaned back against the door, Evie said quietly, “You saved our lives. You saved London. Don't sell yourself short. While Jacob and I were bickering over the methods by which to remove the city from under Templar control, you found that Starrick was planning to massacre heads of state and take the Shroud. I'm not entirely sure how you found that information.” 

Henry still looked vaguely unsettled by her words as he replied, “I have a source within the household servants. He was the one truly in danger through all of this, not me.” 

“You have no idea how glad I was when I felt your pulse after finally doing away with Starrick. I promised myself that I would kiss you many more times after that. I hadn't had a chance to tell you how I felt about you, and I could feel the regret grow as his grip tightened on my throat. I would have never been able to...” Evie's words trailed off, and Henry realized that if he hadn't intervened, he would have had to live with the shame of letting the young woman he'd grown to love lose her life because he was afraid he'd already failed too many times.

He left the counter and met Evie as she crossed the shop, embracing each other. Henry murmured, “You'd never have been able to beat some sense into me whenever I start to pity myself. My mother's the only other one who's managed that feat.”

“So as much as I would love to continue researching the British Assassins here at the shop, I think we should set it aside for the moment and retire back to your quarters where we can warm ourselves in front of the fire and read there.” Evie rose up just slightly and kissed him. 

“Somehow I have a feeling that there will not be much reading.” Henry started to see the appeal of the idea though. They'd worked for so long and stretched themselves so thin that it was starting to wear on all three of them. 

“Is that a problem, Mr. Green?” Evie pulled away from Henry with a knowing smirk. 

“Only if Jacob decides that he needs to interrupt us for some reason.” He pressed a kiss to Evie's cheek as he passed by her and retrieved the key to the shop. “But as you said, he's not much for reading or deep thinking, so I think if we use the books as a shield of some sort, he should suddenly find himself something else to do.”

“Mention 'Piece of Eden' and see how fast he runs,” Evie remarked dourly as she picked up her glove and gauntlet from the counter and pulled them back on. “Unless there's a sacred ale mug involved.”

“We wouldn't be the first to try and find the Holy Grail.” Henry unlocked the door and held it open for Evie to pass through before closing and locking it behind them. They fell into step beside each other, and Henry glanced at her and smiled. 

Evie reached out to lightly touch his arm, returning his smile with a warm one of her own. “We'd actually have a better shot at finding it, I imagine.” 

On the surface, Henry agreed, but he hid his distaste for the artifacts. The war between the Assassins and the Templars had cost too many innocent lives already for him to be fully enamored with them anymore. He offered his arm to her, and Evie readily nestled close to him. “I'll hire some palfreys, milady, and we'll go off in search of the Holy Grail.”

Henry led Evie to the courtyard behind the curio shop, still arm in arm. After unlocking the door, he led her up the stairwell to the small set of rooms directly above the curio shop. 

In contrast to her quarters on the train, which were neatly organized, and Jacob's, which were more or less constructed of miraculously balanced piles of clutter, Henry's rooms above his shop were warm and inviting if still a bit more cluttered than Evie would have liked. 

The waning afternoon sunlight still trickled through the windows, but Henry moved to light candles in both rooms nonetheless. If they managed to do any reading whatsoever, he reasoned, they would need it.

She busied herself with exploring the sitting room which also served as his kitchen and pantry area as well as a personal study. Evie smiled as she took in the art that adorned the walls. She had seen a few examples of his art when they'd first arrived in the city and needed to know what Mr. Abberline and Clara O'Dea looked like, but these were pieces done strictly for pleasure. Some of it must be the result of homesickness, she thought, but given that he had been in London for eight years, his sense of recall was impressive. 

One drawing in particular caught her eye.

“Is that …my father?” she said, gesturing at what had to be a portrait of her late father, only much younger and dressed in garb appropriate for the warmer climate of Amritsar yet still wearing the same devilish smirk that seemed to run in their family. 

Finished with the task of lighting the candles, Henry came to stand beside her and regard the drawing of Ethan Frye. “It is. The last time I saw him before ...coming to England was when he was making preparations to return to England to raise you and Jacob.”

“How old were you?” Evie turned to face her betrothed, her eyes meeting his searchingly. 

“Between ten and eleven, I believe. He'd been in India for over five years at that point, and he wanted to make sure I transitioned successfully to steel weapons before he returned.” The argument between his teacher and his father still haunted Henry. He'd wanted so badly to have his father's approval, to be like the man he'd idolized, that he tried to prove Ethan wrong. “It was time for him to be a father to you and Jacob, he said if my memory serves me correctly.”

He watched her expression, trying to judge if he'd misspoken or not, and feeling a sense of foreboding kindle in the back of his mind.

When she turned her head to look up at him, Evie was surprised to find Henry looking so worried. She reached out to touch his arm, trying to allay his fears. “Don't worry, love. I miss him. I just wish he'd wanted to do that from the beginning.” 

“It took him time to mourn and deal with the irrational feelings that come with grief,” Henry murmured, resting his hand on top of hers and squeezing lightly. “He had to realize that your mother's death could not have been his children's fault.” 

Henry sorely hoped that the first thing that Ethan did when he arrived back in England was to embrace his children as tightly as he could and beg their forgiveness for his absence while they took their first steps and said their first words. He'd like to promise that he wouldn't make the same mistake with his children, but they were quite far from even discussing what sort of life they'd like to make with each other quite yet. 

Evie took a last, longing look at Henry's portrait of her father and squeezed his arm. “You'll have to tell me what your training was like with him. Perhaps we could compare notes.” 

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “I'm sure he improved greatly between my instruction and your own. Come now, sit with me, and we can discuss whatever you like.” 

Taking his cue, Evie sank down onto the sofa and took hold of Henry's hands when he joined her. “Whatever I like? That's a dangerous proposition, Mr. Green.”

“I trust you, Evie.” Ceding control to her felt natural, and really, short of outright betrayal or dissolving the engagement, there was little left that she could do to hurt him. Henry lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them. “What did you want to know?” 

She leaned in to kiss his hands, her face mere inches from his own. “I want to know everything about you.” 

“A gentleman has to have some mysteries,” he replied, sitting back on the sofa and putting a little more distance between them. “If you need ideas for gifts, obviously, you should look for books first or perhaps new technological marvels – I've heard promising news out of America regarding recording sound – or failing that, I've a soft spot for sweets imported from India.” 

“I could find that out about you by walking into your shop. Try again, love.” Evie settled in next to him, perfectly content, it seemed, to wait until he told her something she couldn't find out just from her own observations. When he wasn't forthcoming, she cleared her throat and looked Henry directly in the eyes. “I used to eavesdrop on my father's conversations when George Westhouse was over and they discussed what was happening in London.”

“Same,” Henry offered with a mild chuckle. “Only instead of London, he discussed the past with my parents. It did, however, give me the idea to tap the urchins to find information that an adult might not be able to find out.”

Evie squeezed his hands and smiled her approval. “You would have thought he'd have learned after awhile.”

Henry sighed and tried to stop himself from sinking lower into his seat. “Even the best of us make mistakes.” 

Drawing his hands close, Evie kissed them before looking at Henry intently.“One of the things I've learned over this past year is that Father, while wise, was not a perfect Assassin or even a perfect man.”

“He was a good man, at least,” Henry responded, looking away from her for a moment. When he glanced back at Evie, he smiled warmly. “However, I'd think that having personal feelings towards others would improve one's performance instead of ruining it. Getting captured was my own fault for letting my skills lapse, and I'm thankful that you came for me.”

She had the sneaking suspicion that there was something behind his dodge of the subject, but she would press him about the issue later. Evie leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Let's not make it a habit. I saved your life. You saved mine and Jacob's. I think this makes us even.” 

Henry freed one of his hands from Evie's grasp and slid his arm around her shoulders. Even as she settled in and leaned against Henry, she kept hold of his hand. After a few moments of silence, he murmured quietly, “I sorely wish I had a fireplace at times like these. It's much more romantic than looking at the detritus cluttering up my parlor stove.” 

Evie massaged his hand between hers. “What are those anyways?” She held his hand fast with one hand and let the other start to toy with the edge of Henry's cowl. 

He gave her a bemused smile as he answered, “Gifts left on the shop's doorstep from those grateful to be out from under the yoke of the Templars. They're nearly always food. Some I keep, but most I hand out to the urchins.”

“Do we get to try any?” 

Henry was keenly aware of Evie's touch as she graduated from cloth to his throat. He swallowed just to watch her expression change as she traced the hollow of his throat. “Of course. Please let me know if you'd like anything to eat.” 

“I'm content for the moment, thank you, darling.” She paused then added, “I would like to know some more about you if you don't mind.” 

“I'd rather know more about you,” Henry returned, arching an eyebrow. “Save for the past year, all your father told me about you was that we shared a similar fascination with Precursor artifacts. He was rather mum on the subject of anything outside of the mission."

Evie tugged and loosened the knot keeping Henry's scarf tied around his shoulders. She untied it and folded it neatly before setting down beside them on the sofa.“Well, I always kept the gifts that he brought us back from India. I'm curious to see how big elephants really are in the flesh.”

He smiled ruefully at her. “Large enough that a grown man need only crouch down and be careful not to startle them in order to walk underneath their bellies.” 

“Ah, let me guess. Father made you practice?” Evie examined the closures keeping his robes closed. Henry realized that his hand was free, so he covered her hand and kept her from disrobing him further. At least for the time being. 

“Not quite.” The idea made Henry laugh quietly though. “I imagine Father would have had a fit if he saw his young son trying to sneak under the belly of an elephant. No, Father thought I should learn some skills in the same manner that he had when he was younger, but that was thankfully not one of them.”

“I daresay I'd have some misgivings about letting him near his grandchildren if he'd insisted on doing so,” Evie muttered, earning a raised eyebrow from Henry. “But it must make for interesting stories.” 

He made an affirmative sound as he released her hand. “I'll let him do the storytelling. He's far better at it than I am, and he does have the firsthand experience to draw from.” 

“I'm sure he does, but I'm equally sure we'll have tales of our own to tell in exchange,” Evie remarked as she pulled away from him and stood. Offering her hand to Henry, she tilted her head towards the bedroom. “Should we finish the tour then? I think I'd like to know where I'll be spending most of my nights from now on.” 

With an arched eyebrow, Henry accepted her assistance in standing, trying to casually slide his arm around her waist. Evie's smirk let him know that she thought there was nothing casual about it, but she pretended otherwise as he led her to the bedroom that took up the other half of his small living space. 

The bed took up most of the room, piled high with thick bedding and pillows. An armoire held spare robes and what Evie took to be disguises since she'd never seen Henry wear anything but his Assassin's robes. What pleased Evie most, however, was the presence of books on most of the available flat surfaces. 

Noting her expression, Henry had to respond with a pleased smile of his own. “I presume that I should tidy up and make room for some of your things then.” 

“It might be a wise idea,” Evie allowed. “It also might be wise to consult a carpenter about additional shelves for any additions we might make to our personal collection.” 

“Our personal collection, Miss Frye?” Henry tilted his head at her and raised an eyebrow. “How forward of you.” 

“No, Mr. Green. This would be forward of me.” One of Evie's hands slid down Henry's back and rested on the small of his back then slid down further and squeezed playfully. “It's merely logical to presume that we'll need to accommodate a growing library.” 

“How appropriate, of course,” Henry murmured as his thoughts turned to an image of the two of them reading contentedly in bed, perhaps early in the morning, with Evie nestled in his arms as he read the text over her shoulder. Unbidden, he leaned his head down and kissed her forehead. 

Evie leaned against him and lifted her face, capturing his mouth with hers. The kiss was slow and deliberate and deepened until they had to pause for breath. 

“I wish I knew what sort of thoughts brought that on.” Her voice was low, and she sounded very, very pleased. “Because I'd make you think them more often.” 

Henry glanced away for a moment. “I thought about reading in bed with you.” 

“Oh?” The pleasure turned to amusement. “What were we doing at the time?” 

“Just. Reading.” Henry's face flushed as she held fast to him. “But I held you and read over your shoulder.”

“Oh, I like that idea.” Evie rewarded his admission with a pleased smile. “Does it become anything more?” 

“It could,” he allowed. In his thoughts, Evie gasped as she read the book aloud while Henry's fingers dipped between her thighs. “I'm sure my thoughts wouldn't begin to describe the reality of it.” Or perhaps she'd have Henry read to her as she lay sated in his arms. 

Evie smoothed the back of his robes, tracing the embroidery with her fingertips, as she replied, “We should find out how the two compare sometime.”

“If you have the rest of the evening free, I wouldn't mind experimenting.” 

Before he could change his mind, Evie detached herself from her beloved and started to remove her gauntlets, dropping them to the floor beside the bed. “You have such marvelous ideas, Mr. Green.” 

Henry followed suit and unstrapped his hidden blade from his forearm. He noted with some pride how long Evie's gaze lingered on him as he set it down on a stack of books. He felt a slight blush start to creep up to his cheeks. “Evie, I warn you, I won't be wearing quite this much if you insist on improving my combat skills. “

She blinked, jerking her blue eyes up to his brown ones. “Should I ask Jacob for his assistance when I see him next? I wouldn't want to distract you from your studies.”

“I doubt he'll appreciate my attempts at seduction quite as much as you do, Evie.”

Evie stifled her snicker, and Henry placed his hands on her hips without realizing that he'd moved. Evie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. She murmured against Henry's mouth, “If you kiss my twin brother in the middle of sparring, I will be very incensed.”

“If I kiss Jacob, it will be because I've hit my head and suddenly can't tell the difference between a shapely young woman with enchanting blue eyes and an impetuous jackass.” He'd used a bit more conviction than he'd really meant to, Henry realized.

Evie tapped her fingertips on the nape of Henry's neck. She itched to play with his thick, dark hair, so she kissed him soundly as her fingers lazily walked upwards to tug at his locks. “That's because you're a smart man, Henry Green.” 

Henry resisted the urge to react to Evie's touches with a purr. He had a very brief flash of spending an afternoon with his head pillowed on Evie's lap as they basked in the warmth of a fireplace with his beloved running her fingers through his hair. “It's not so much intelligence as basic survival instinct. I strongly suspect kissing your brother would not yield the same pleasant results as kissing you.” 

“Is this an experiment you wish to conduct, Mr. Green?” Evie's nails weren't very long, but they were long enough to get Henry's attention, and her voice took on a clipped tone. 

“Not at all, Miss Frye.” He lightly ran his palms up her sides and around to her back, pulling her to him tightly. “I merely point out that there's a distinct difference in how we interact versus how I would interact with Jacob.” 

Evie peered at him, curious. Her touches moved down to his shoulders which had stiffened. 

Henry glanced away, his eyes seeking anything else to look at than Evie. “Jacob communicates almost entirely by sarcasm and snide comments. Plus I doubt you'd find the two of us share many interests. That's all.” 

She merely made a noise of understanding, and Henry hoped that was the end of it. He had a sinking feeling that he'd have to deal with it at some point, given that he intended to marry Evie. For the time being, Henry opted to try and change the subject. “You know, we'll have plenty of time to excavate my tortured psyche, and I have a feeling that we would never get out of bed if I let my hair grow any longer.” 

“I should take you over my knee, Henry. You're lucky that this isn't a training exercise you're trying to avoid, or else I'd have you practicing some menial form for the rest of the day.” Evie nipped at his lower lip. “As much as Jacob frustrates us both, I need you to be able to work with him without disaster befalling the city if I'm ill or injured or otherwise indisposed.”

He exhaled. It was a nice try at least. “Yes, Evie.” 

“Don't sound so defeated,” she chided him. “Jacob might be a hardheaded idiot, but the moment you compare him to Father, he makes a strangled noise in his throat and gives me the silent treatment. You both could use a lesson in proper communication techniques and dealing with the past.”

Henry made a noncommittal sound. He lowered his head and kissed Evie thoroughly, resorting to more physical means to distract her. As they parted, Evie was more than a little breathless as she leaned back against his hands, using the circle of his arms to steady herself. 

“That was cheating and distinctly unfair,” she said eventually, once she'd regained her composure. Evie pushed lightly on his chest with her palms, instructing, “Sit.”

Henry was about to sit on the edge of the bed, but Evie shook her head, pointing down at the floor. He raised an eyebrow as he sank to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed underneath him. Evie took her place on the bed and rested her boots in her future husband's lap. Removing her cravat, she dabbed imaginary sweat away from her face and throat. Henry watched raptly, his eyes traveling up the inner seams of her trousers then jumping up to Evie's face. 

“Do I have to stay here until I behave myself?” Henry leaned back on his hands. “I admit that the view is nice, but I'd planned on spending our time together a bit closer to you than this.” 

Evie draped her cravat around Henry's shoulders then shrugged out of her jacket and started to unbutton her waistcoat. “Help me with my boots then. Not all of us are so lucky to be able to wear leather slippers, darling.” 

Briefly inhaling her scent, Henry offered a faint smile. “Oh?” He considered asking if she would rather come down and sit in his lap instead. “Then you should have come to the city five years ago. I was strictly barefoot at that point.” And sleeping in the tunnels with the dregs of society as the Ghost. 

Evie shrugged out of her waistcoat as Henry dutifully worked on tugging off her boots. “If you're not careful, we're going to have a long list of fantasies we both need to fulfill.” 

Henry raised an eyebrow. “There's a list? How many items are on it so far?” 

She offered her hands to him, palms facing outwards. Henry leaned forward, pressing a kiss to each one and counting it a victory when she reached for him. Rising from his seat to kneel, Henry found himself between her knees, Evie's face just above his. He impulsively kissed her, feeling her stocking feet on the backs of his thighs as it deepened. 

Evie broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against Henry's mouth, “At least one.” 

Henry laughed softly and sat down on his heels. He took Evie's hands in his and gave her what Maggie would have called his 'sun and moonlight' smile. “Tell me.”

She planted a kiss on his forehead then patted the spot next to her on the bed. Evie welcomed Henry with a smile as he moved to sit beside her, their shoulders touching. “I think we should do that more often, for one.” 

“I should hope so,” Henry replied, clasping her hands in his. “I foresee several days where researching turns out just like today where we end up kissing more than talking or learning more about each other rather than a trinket from the Precursors.”

Evie blushed as her thoughts took shape – kissing Henry over scattered documents from past Assassins, removing his robes herself, pushing him down onto their bed, marveling at the contrast between his chestnut skin and the stark white of the bedding...

“Please tell me that we don't stop at just a kiss, Henry.” 

Henry squeezed her hands. “Not if we don't want to, but should we before we inform our families what we intend to do?”

“Jacob already suspects something, given how much he's teased me already.” Evie leaned against her betrothed. 

“If my experience in London still holds true, George Westhouse already knows and has sent a message to my parents in Amritsar.” Henry exhaled and rested his head against hers, allowing Evie to nuzzle in closer. “I swear that man has an almost supernatural talent for knowing what my emotional state is and how best to manipulate it against me.”

Evie smiled at his complaint. “And how do you counteract it?”

“By having standard orders with Aleck to intercept and translate any messages from Crawley to Amritsar.”

“That's one way to do it.” 

“And instructing the urchins to pick his pocket if he should show up at a train station as well that of any tall Kashmiri men that accompany him.” Henry's brown eyes were warm and had a glint of mischief in them. “That may sound familiar.”

Evie freed one of her hands and lightly poked her fiancé in the side. “I'd wondered how you knew we were in London so quickly.”

“Twenty year old twins, one male, one female, dark haired, named Jacob and Evie, possibly mentioning me by name.” Her beloved sounded only a little pleased with himself. “I might have had a plan in place, yes. However, I did not expect to fall in love once I climbed up onto that factory rooftop, so you still have the advantage, Evie.”

“And shortly after, Jacob started mercilessly teasing me about how I'd started fancying you already.” Evie traced the edge of Henry's robes, running her fingertip along the gilt work embroidery. “I hate it when he's right.”

Henry let himself enjoy Evie's exploration, basking in the warmth of her touch. “He is rather insufferable at times, yes.” 

“It doesn't make him any less correct, unfortunately,” Evie allowed as she unfastened Henry's leather chest strap and let drop quietly to the floor. “I do want you.”

Swallowing hard, Henry's hands came up as he started to help with his robes, and Evie brushed his hands away, murmuring, “I want to do it.” 

Evie met his eyes and searched for his approval. Henry nodded slowly. He wanted to do the same for her; there's no reason why she shouldn't be allowed the privilege. In truth, it felt exhilarating to hold still as she divested him of scarves and cords and silks. Eventually, he wore only an open collared shirt, his trousers and slippers, and Evie looked at him much like a hungry tigress might look at an upcoming meal.

He wanted so badly to be devoured by her, to see Evie undone, her lips bruised from kissing with his fingers tangled in her hair. He wanted to see what she liked, what would drive her to dig furrows in his shoulders with her nails, and what would happen once they got used to sleeping in the same bed. Would she sleep late or would she rouse first and wake him with teasing kisses and maddening touches?

He must have let some of his arousal bleed through because when he tilted his head to look at Evie, she returned his gaze with a raised eyebrow as she unbuttoned the first button and exposed a tantalizing sliver of his chest. She shifted herself into straddling his lap and kissed his jaw. Henry groaned and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly as he felt himself harden. 

“We're doomed,” he managed to say between kisses. “I'm not sure that I mind, but we're doomed if we cannot make it through the afternoon without being overcome with desire.”

Evie rocked her hips just slightly, eliciting an exhaled curse from Henry. “I don't mind either.” She kissed Henry firmly, their mouths parting just enough to taste each others breath before meeting again. 

Henry gladly received her kisses and returned them with a pleased sound in the back of his throat. He paused long enough to her throat. Kisses there earned him a soft moan. Without thinking, he pulled her close, his hips rising to meet hers. 

Evie swiftly became aware of the heat between them and of Henry's arousal. She ground herself down against her beloved and welcomed his aid in unbuttoning her shirtwaist. Henry's hands grasped her waist, and his lips found the swell of her breasts as she shrugged off the garment.

“I may have planned this ahead of time,” Evie confessed while she kissed the top of Henry's head, angling to meet his lips as he raised his face from her chest.

His fingers toyed with the edge of the camisole she wore. Her scent, her warmth was more intoxicating than any wine he'd had. If he had the same effect on Evie that she had on him, no wonder they didn't have their wits about them. “So far, you're a marvelous seductress, Evie.”

Evie slid off of his lap, much to Henry's protest. She unfastened her belt He steadied her with a hand on her hip, allowing her to rest her hand on his shoulder as she finished. Henry leaned forward and kissed her belly as he unlaced her pants. Careful to leave her drawers in place, preserving her modesty for just a bit longer, he pushed the pants down over her hips. 

Down to camisole, drawers, and stockings, Evie ran her fingers through Henry's thick, black hair. “You have the advantage again, sir.”

“Do I now.” The Indian Assassin enjoyed the sensation of her hands tangled in his hair and the taste of her skin on his tongue. He reluctantly stood, causing Evie to take a step back. “I suppose you'd like to do the honors, Miss Frye.” 

Evie reached forward and swatted Henry lightly on his rear. “I hope you don't cry out 'Miss Frye' when you climax.” 

His arousal was obvious through his trousers, and Evie gave in to her curiosity and stroked his length gently. Henry responded with a faint hissing intake of breath. Cupping him in her palm resulted in a plaintive moan and clenched fists. 

“Most unfair, Miss... Evie.” 

“I apologize, Henry.” The mischievous look on her face belied her apology. She leaned in and kissed him as she finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it down over his shoulders. As she dropped the garment to the floor to join hers, Evie knelt to remove Henry's slippers, tracing a fingertip along a ghostly pale scar that emanated up from the sole of his foot. 

“Stepped on broken glass,” he offered by way of explanation when she looked up at him questioningly. “London is not a safe city if one is barefoot.”

“I would say so, Henry.” Evie drew herself back up, placing her hands on his chest. As her hands slid down his stomach and started to untie his trousers, Evie leaned up and whispered in his ear, “I think the only malady I'll allow you to suffer from now on is exhaustion.” With that, she pushed the trousers down over her beloved's hips, taking the same care he did to leave him with only his drawers on. They revealed more of Henry's skin than she expected. Not that Evie would complain. 

There was time later to explain the minor difference between _kachera_ and English smallclothes, Henry decided. For the moment, there was only embracing each other tightly and feeling feverish skin beneath their fingers. 

Henry was distracted by the warm swell of her hips as Evie murmured something. “Hmm? I'm afraid I was... am having difficulties paying attention at the moment.” 

Evie cleared her throat and said with a devilish glint in her eye, “Get on the bed, Mr. Green, or I will be forced to take measures.” 

“If you insist.” Henry kept his arms around Evie as he sat down on the edge of his bed. The English assassin leaned over him, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss. 

“I do insist.” Evie's voice was featherlight in Henry's ears. She pressed her lips along the column of his throat, using the barest touch to urge him to lay back on the bed then joining him. Evie draped herself over his side and warmly smiled at her betrothed. “This is much better. Don't you agree?”

Contentedly embracing Evie and kissing her forehead, Henry murmured his agreement. 

Now that they had little in the way of barriers, they were content to explore each other. Evie kissed him deeply as she dug her fingernails into his hip. He stroked the small of her back and marveled at how she reacted, arching up against him. 

She nipped at his lower lip, her tongue seeking entrance, and he granted it eagerly. Henry returned the favor, tasting Evie's mouth and smiling against her lips as the kiss ended. He kept running his hand along her spine while they rested. Thankful that he had a chance to calm himself before rutting against her like a half-wild animal, Henry breathed evenly and tried vainly to think of something other than the pliant woman filling his senses. 

He was lost the moment Evie caught his eyes. She smiled wickedly, and Henry desperately wondered if she knew the effect she had on his self control with that devilish smile. 

Henry sighed and captured her mouth with his own. “We're doomed,” he murmured between kisses. “Terribly doomed.” Kiss. “We'll have no time for Pieces of Eden.” Smirk, hers.

“Henry Green, you have such a way with words,” Evie breathed. Her hand ghosted over his side up towards his chest then back down to his hip and lower. Her fingers traced the edge of his manhood, causing Henry to inhale and try to count backwards from one hundred. 

“Thank you, Miss Frye.” The four words came past his lips like cold honey on a winter's day. With every touch of her fingertips along his shaft, even with a layer of cloth between them, Henry fervently wished that he were inside of Evie, but he doubted very much that she wanted to begin having children so soon. 

Even so, a primal urge tugged at his senses, and Henry summoned as much self control as he could manage to stop himself from ravishing his betrothed.

Evie didn't bother to hide a smirk. Henry was normally so reserved and gentle that she found it intriguing that he could still retain a semblance of civility even when she touched him so intimately. She traced a path upwards along the trail of dark hair leading from his belly to his chest and caught Henry under his chin. “You are allowed to touch me in areas other than my back, dear Henry. In fact, I strongly encourage it.” 

His eyes darkened briefly with lust, and a familiar electricity ran through Evie. She sat upright, prompting Henry to do the same, and shrugged out of her camisole. Before Henry could likely overthink his way out of things, Evie's drawers and stockings joined the pile of garments on the floor of Henry's flat. 

“Before I do something untoward, Evie, I should ask..”

“Have I taken into consideration that children, while lovely to think about, would not be a good idea at this time and considered precautions?” Evie hooked her fingers into the waistband of Henry's _kachera_. “That's the lovely thing about the sponge method I read about: I can plan ahead.”

With that, she slowly pulled them down over his hips. Bemusedly, Henry shook his head. “I should have known you'd approach me with the same intensity as you'd approach any other area of your life.” 

As he rose to his knees, Evie discarded the garment and looked her fill of her beloved. “You're not a mission, Henry. You're not a stronghold that needs to be destroyed. You're not a Templar Grandmaster looking to exploit the poor and hungry for your own gains.” 

She met Henry's eyes and very pointedly kept her gaze locked on his as she shifted to her knees. “Henry, I love you, but you're driving me mad.” Evie reached for his hands and placed them on her hips. 

The Indian Assassin let himself be lost in her eyes for a moment before replying, “Oh. My apologies, Evie. Is there any cure for this madness?” Henry cursed himself for forgetting that Evie might have prepared herself for this situation. 

Evie rested her hands on his chest, spreading her slim fingers over his skin. “Jayadeep Mir, you infuriating man.” 

Henry leaned in for a kiss. It'd been so long since he'd heard his actual name, and from her lips, no less. Evie murmured, “Jay, I...” She could barely get the words out before a kiss interrupted her, one deeper than before. “Please, Jay...”

He kissed his way down her throat, and Evie let her head fall back to accommodate him. Henry wrapped his arms around her, supporting her as she bared her throat. Renewed desire was evident in his voice as he murmured, “I love you, Evie Frye, more than anything.”

“And I you, Jayadeep Mir,” Evie replied, her fingernails digging into her lover's skin. If this is how he reacted, she would call him by his real name as much as she could.

Gently, Henry supported Evie as he lay her on her back, his weight a welcoming presence on top of her. He continued to kiss his way down the length of her body, paying special attention to the swell of her breasts. A flick of his tongue into her navel made Evie shiver. He braced himself on one hand as the other parted Evie's thighs, and he was struck by the headiness of her scent. 

He waited until she grew curious and looked down at him then Henry very deliberately kissed her inner thighs, letting her feel his breath on her skin. As his mouth came close to her womanhood, Evie's heart thudded faster in her chest, and as she felt the warm, wet tip of his tongue lap at her folds, she sighed and closed her eyes. 

“Good, is it?” 

“...you smug bastard.” Her pleased tone let Henry know he was on the right course. 

As he tasted her, Henry followed how she moved, suckling gently on the tender skin until he found a spot that guaranteed an arched back and sharp cry. He felt a small bud engorge and harden under his tongue. Evie's breath came quickly and shallowly until she actively began to moan. Henry kept up the attention on that small nub of flesh, and as he did so, he glanced up at Evie just as she arched her back, a soft keening sound signaling that she must be close. 

She has to be, Henry thought, or else he'd been failed in that part of his education. He still wasn't sure how that particular book made it into his assigned readings of Assassin histories, but he was suddenly very grateful. Judging by the whimpering coming from Evie, so was she.

Evie shuddered and cried out, her fingers digging into his bedding, then sagged back down. Henry slowed down his ministrations and raised his face. He touched his mouth; he hadn't quite expected the resulting slickness.

Not that he minded. Whatever puzzlement he felt passed quickly, overtaken by pride. 

Evie tried to regain control of her breathing. Briefly wiping his face with the edge of the bedding, Henry crawled back up the bed to lay beside his lover. She reached for the Indian Assassin and, with fingers entangled in his thick, dark hair, pulled his face to hers for a kiss. Evie blinked and pulled away as she tasted her sex on his lips and tongue. 

Henry shrugged, a sly grin sneaking across his mouth. “It's certainly no sugared sweet, but...” 

Evie quieted him with a finger over his mouth. “You sound like my brother, and I really, really don't want to think about Jacob right now,” she said, mortifying Henry. “Besides, I need to reciprocate, don't I?” 

Her mouth on him? “Well, if you want to, Evie, I won't object,” Henry said as he kissed her lightly. He might be able to last a bit longer before stroking himself to completion or shamelessly begging her to let him take her. Otherwise, the thought was intoxicating by itself.

“Do you want me to?” Evie murmured, one of her hands already snaking its way down towards his shaft and loosely encircling it with her fingers. 

A few seconds passed before Henry could respond. “Evie, you'll have to forgive me, but I can't think when you're deliberately trying to drive me out of my mind.”

Evie smirked as she sat up, switching their positions so that Henry lay stretched out on the bed and she draped herself over his lap, keeping a loose grip on his manhood. She examined him with both fingertips and eyes, tracing the vein that ran up the underside of his shaft. Henry gasped involuntarily as she reached the head and brushed her lips over the skin. 

He was nearly lost when she delicately licked him. Henry closed his eyes and forced his mind to drift away from anything happening in the bedroom, Evie in general and whatever she was doing with her tongue and fingers in specific. He swallowed hard and concentrated on his breathing. 

“Henry?” Evie's voice brought him back to the bedroom. 

“Mmm?” Henry opened his eyes just a bit. 

“Is there something wrong? You're rather silent.” 

“If I look at you while you're pleasuring me, I will ...climax before I'd like to.” Henry felt a hot flush come to his cheeks. 

“Watch.” Evie waited until she saw Henry's eyes open wide in surprise, and then she kissed and took the head of his shaft into her mouth. Evie had to smile just a bit around his arousal as Henry bit back a moan. He kept watching her, to his credit, and he seemed to relax under her ministrations. 

He reached one hand to cup the back of Evie's head, making a mental note to ask her to undo her braids and let him see her with hair loose, and the other joined her fingers around his manhood. Evie let Henry guide her, stroking his shaft while she flicked her tongue over the head. If she didn't know better, Evie could swear that he was purring. 

As his breathing changed and quickened, Henry tightened his fingers in Evie's hair. “Evie, please...” He felt his control slipping, and he bit his lower lip. Any attempts to distract himself from the sight of Evie suckling at his manhood failed one by one. Her reddened, swollen lips and the touch of her wet tongue were far too much for his own thoughts.

Evie met Henry's eyes, and she felt him start to shift and writhe underneath her. She stilled her hand, receiving a reassuring squeeze from his, and lifted her mouth from the head of his shaft. “How close are you?” she asked. 

“A few more moments, and I would be apologizing for finishing in your mouth,” Henry whispered, licking his dry lips. Now that she wasn't actively pleasuring him, he could try and form coherent sentences. 

Evie released his shaft and slid along his body, feeling his arousal against her belly as she kissed him. “Never apologize for your own pleasure,” she murmured. 

“I wanted to give you the option – your mouth, my hand, or inside of you,” he protested. Her thighs were just parted enough that he could feel the damp heat of her sex against his skin. Henry groaned as she shifted and sat atop his thighs, still kissing him and pressing her tongue against his mouth for entry.

Evie rocked her hips forward, and Henry reached between them without thinking, his fingertips pressing her folds open. In return, Evie pushed down against him, feeling his fingers dip partway inside her. She pressed just a bit further, and one of Henry's fingers slid inside of her, causing Evie to gasp. 

Concerned, Henry kissed her and tugged at her lower lip. “Are you hurt?” As nicely as it felt, he couldn't let his pleasure come by way of Evie's pain. 

“Just took me by surprise a bit.” Evie nipped at his mouth. “See?” She slowly raised herself up and sat upright, rocking her hips so that his finger slipped in and out of her folds. “I admit that I could take a bit more than just a finger, love, should you be interested, of course.” 

So he added a second finger, earning a second gasp and an approving look from Evie. He withdrew the fingers quickly and held her still with one hand. The other braced his manhood up against her sex and helped her sink downwards slowly. As she took his length inside of her, Evie bit her lip and met his gaze, and Henry mentally offered a prayer to whatever deity had allowed him to catch Evie's interest. 

He held her hips as he started to move his. Evie rested her hands on top of his then slid them down the length of his arms to rest on his chest. She rose up and came back down, settling into a rhythm with his thrusts. Henry couldn't quite put words together even in his thoughts as they moved. He could only concentrate on how Evie's breath changed, how it quickened, and how she could only gasp and cry out as she had earlier when he'd used his tongue. 

Evie bent her head to his, whimpering as she felt her muscles tighten, “Jay, please, as hard as you can... Just a bit more.” 

Henry held her hips in place as he obeyed, losing himself in her cries, her pleased moans, her body tightening around his and finally, finally teasing him over the edge as she climaxed. His thrusts came harder, his hips forcing his back to arch painfully upwards. 

While he finally regained his senses, Evie kissed his face and smoothed his hair. Henry managed to return her smile and a few kisses before she raised herself up, letting his softening arousal slip from her folds. She lay half on top of him, pillowing her head on his shoulder. He became aware of the sweat drying on their bodies and the sleepy grin that Evie offered him when he caught her hand in his. 

He became aware of something else as well. Granted, they'd been occupied with other matters, but he hadn't realized how quickly the night had come. The candles that he'd lit when they first came to his flat were now the only source of light. Henry sighed and started to sit up. 

“Oh? Are there problems, darling?” Evie purred. If this was any indication of what their lives were going to be like once they married, they would have little to worry about. She began to remove the pins from her hair, sparking new interest from Henry, who watched raptly as her dark hair came unbound. 

Unable to speak for a few moments, he eventually stammered, “The candles... the stove, I'm sure it will be cold tonight.”

“But you don't want to leave the bed, do you?” 

“Not particularly, no, but if we want to be comfortable tonight, I at least need to light the fire in the stove and extinguish the candles in the other room.” Henry extricated himself from Evie's embrace and steadied himself before standing up. He earned a swat on the backside for his troubles. 

When he looked back at Evie, she shrugged nonchalantly. “Don't dawdle.”

“Yes, Miss Frye.” Henry did not move fast enough to escape another swat, but the next one missed as he darted out of reach. “I'll come back to bed in a moment, dear. I wouldn't want you to be cold.”

Making quick work of extinguishing the candles in the sitting room, he lit the fire in the parlor stove with a long handled match and returned just as Evie deposited her hair pins on the floor beside the bed. He rejoined her in bed and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on her shoulder before pulling the covers up over them. 

Evie turned back to her lover and resumed draping herself contentedly over him. Henry sighed and buried his face in her hair, kissing the top of Evie's head. He got used to touching her rather quickly, and he couldn't really stop. Not even now, when he imagined Evie didn't entirely appreciate his attentions.

“I love you, Jayadeep Mir.” Evie sounded firm if more than a little tired. “Or Henry Green. I love the man with whom I am currently planning a wedding.”

Henry could swear she had some sort of otherworldly ability to discern his thoughts. “I love you, too, Evie Frye.”

She kissed his cheek, letting out a contented sigh. Evie slid her arm across Henry's chest, causing him to respond by wrapping his arms around her waist. Her presence was enough to lift his mood and burn away some of his doubts. Time would tell if she would be a salve to his other wounds.

For the time being, however, Henry found himself warming, both literally and figuratively, to the idea of sharing a bed with Evie. As he felt sleep tug at his consciousness, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evie refers to Every Woman's Book by Richard Carlile (1826), one of the first books in England to serve as a progressive sex manual as well as specify methods of contraception.


	2. Messages and Judgements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The facets of Henry Green's life start to meld together as he and Evie make plans for their wedding. In the eight years since his failed blooding, he must resist the urge to be his own harshest critic and sabotage the chances of his exile from India being lifted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first morning after, a message is sent and received.

When he awoke the next morning, he and Evie were still nestled close even if they weren't entwined. He stretched carefully, trying to avoid waking her. However, he was unable to resist dropping a delicate kiss on an exposed shoulder before he slid out of bed. 

Judging by the soft grey sky outside, it was shortly before dawn. Henry preferred to sleep later, but he was afraid of disturbing Evie if he had a nightmare about his botched blooding. He'd told her that it had gone poorly, hence Ethan Frye's travel to Amritsar when she was twelve, but he hadn't specified that he had been hours away from execution when her father had arrived and petitioned for exile instead. 

He first gathered their clothes, folding Evie's neatly on a worktable underneath the window. Pulling on his _kachera_ and trousers, Henry then inspected himself in the small mirror hung on the wall above his washstand. Thankfully, when this particular building was constructed, they'd begun to include indoor plumbing. No need to venture outdoors to a public water pump unless necessary. Half-frowning, he set about making himself presentable – first, his teeth with a boar's hair toothbrush and chalky tooth powder. He was in the middle of applying the shaving lather to his face when Evie stirred, probably disturbed from her sleep by the sounds of water and porcelain. 

He held his straight razor to his throat and set about gently shaving the previous day's growth when Evie commented, her voice still thick with sleep, “I wonder what you'd look like if you let that grow.”

Without missing a beat, Henry replied, carefully working on his jawline, “My darling, I'm liable to sprout a full beard if I sneeze too hard.”

Evie rolled her eyes but snickered at his comment all the same. “I think it took forever for Jacob to grow any facial hair, so he's loath to shave what he has.”

Henry finished shaving, rinsed his razor in the basin, and wiped his face clean of any errant lather before he turned to Evie. She lay in bed, radiant with her hair tangled from sleep and covers pulled up over her chest, and she smiled when he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Good morning, Henry,” she greeted him warmly. “You're up early. You should come back to bed.” Evie held up the edge of the covers, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of herself, and Henry found himself agreeing with her suddenly. However, he kept his trousers on as a precaution.

“We did fall asleep rather early,” the Indian Assassin pointed out as Evie draped herself over his side and kissed his cheek. 

“And whose fault is that?”

“Oh, you're blaming me then?” Henry affected an air of amused outrage. “Might I remind you who said something about perhaps planning last night in advance?”

Evie protested, nipping at his earlobe, “That is not the point of the matter, Mr. Green.” She coyly murmured in addition, “The point is that I enjoyed it quite a bit, and I hope you did as well.” 

Henry touched her hip and squeezed lightly. “I very much enjoy any time I spend with you, Miss Frye, but I expect last night's activities to pale in comparison as we get to know each other more intimately.” 

“I'd like to do that right now, but there seems to be a barrier to that particular course of action.” This did not stop her from rubbing him through his trousers and causing Henry to inhale sharply. 

“If I didn't have to check in with some sources, I'd be more than happy to stay in bed with you.” Henry kissed Evie's forehead by way of apology. “Once I'm done, I'll be in the shop, trying to make sense of the research. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like, of course.”

Before her beloved could slip from the bed again, Evie kissed him firmly. “You're also welcome to rejoin me here. I thoroughly enjoyed yesterday's activities, and I fully intend that neither of us sleep alone after this unless absolutely necessary.” 

Henry's smile was small and warm and guarded. He'd have to warn her about the nightmares at some point, but perhaps her presence might mitigate them. His eyes softened as he looked at hers, fierce and deep and as entrancing as the day that he first saw her. Finally, he responded, “I'd like that very much, Miss Frye.” 

Evie kissed him once more before lightly shoving his shoulders. “Now, go. Meet with your sources, and I'll get myself dressed and presentable then come down to the shop. Maybe we can get some actual research done today, and get a lead on a new Piece of Eden.”

He took his time getting out of bed and dressing himself. Henry noted how smug Evie looked as she lay under the blankets and felt a small burst of pride in the way that she watched him – like she was planning precisely what to try the next time they found themselves in bed together. Which, if he were to be honest, she more than likely was. 

As he leaned in to kiss her one last time, Evie whispered, “I love you, Jayadeep Mir.”

Henry couldn't help but smile as he replied, “And I love you, Evie Frye.” He kissed her soundly then left quickly down the stairs as if he were afraid that if he stayed longer, he'd shirk his responsibilities to his sources and considerations about pregnancy and make love to her again. 

Locking the door to his small apartment behind him, Henry made quick progress toward the livery stable where he kept his horses and carriage. As much as he would have liked a new Hansom, the old, battered, and often repaired Clarence would make do for awhile longer as long as he never lent it out to Jacob again. He harnessed his mares, climbed up into the seat, and shook the reins as he clicked his tongue to urge them forward at a trot. 

Thankfully, the early morning traffic was light. The bakers wouldn't be making their deliveries for a few hours yet, so he arrived in Westminster swiftly. While that borough's buildings were in better shape than Whitechapel's, there were still drunks and beggars, and sure enough, in the alley closest to the late Crawford Starrick's residence, close enough to see the comings and goings of his visitors, a middle-aged man sat slumped with a bottle beside him.

Henry drew the reins back, slowing the horses to a walk then stopped in the street in front of the 'drunkard'. “How's the leg, Jake?”

“It tells me that it's fixing to rain, Bharat.” Jake's eyes faintly twinkled at the use of Henry's former alias. “Glad it's barkin' at me though. Can't thank you enough for that.” 

“Your continued good health is all I ask in return.” Henry smiled warmly. He hadn't been sure that his ministrations would have worked in the cold, damp tunnel, but Jake kept his leg. He limped severely at times, but playing a beggar or a drunk didn't require him to run. “And our friend?”

Jake gestured in the direction of the mansion. “He's alright. Said to tell you that there's nothing yet, but don't expect that the place will be empty for too long. They're still smarting over the loss of Mr. Starrick, and don't think they'll be taking it lying down.”

Of course not. Henry nodded shortly. “Tell Charlie that there's a magnificent spiced bread in Whitechapel when he can steal away for an afternoon.” The likelihood was low that Charlie would be able to meet with Henry, but he made the offer all the same.

Henry knew them from his days as The Ghost, and he had seen them grow over the years: Jake had become Henry's eyes in Westminster, playing on the tendency of the rich to ignore the plight of the poor even under their own noses, and Charlie, an abused half-starved boy back in the days of the tunnel, had grown up under Henry's tutelage and now was employed as a house servant for the Templar order. Charlie's cover was too delicate for them to meet often, so Henry used Jake as a bridge of sorts. 

When Henry had finished his day as a worker at the Metropolitan Railway digsite, he had developed something of a ritual, offering bread to Charlie as he came back to the tunnel when Charlie's own family was too volatile to provide more than a hard slap if the boy begged for a scrap of food to quiet his belly. Since then, as he'd become Henry Green, he'd kept up the ritual, offering bread and, later, lessons to Charlie. 

Henry had fretted over the decision to ask Charlie to enter into Crawford Starrick's employ for weeks before he asked the boy, and to his surprise, Charlie had agreed. He had passed the information about Starrick's plan to assassinate the Queen and the other heads of church and state at the ball, and Henry liked to think that Starrick had not been undone by his own hubris; he had been undone by the crust of bread given to a hungry boy. 

Jake mimed tipping his hat to Henry in acknowledgment. “I'll tell him the next time I see him.”

“Take care of yourself as well,” Henry ordered, only half-joking. “You're a good man, Jake, and I'd hate to see any harm come to you because I got you into trouble.” He gathered the reins and was about to urge his mares forward when Jake shook his head. 

“I'll be fine. The children keep an eye on me and bring new disguises if I've got one on too long.” Jake grinned broadly, dismissing Henry's concern with a wave of his hand. “They'd tell you right quick if someone was hassling me.”

Henry sighed and rolled his eyes. “The point stands. Be safe, the both of you.” 

He urged the mares into a trot and continued his rounds, enjoying the morning air before the factories started up. One day, he'd have to introduce Evie and Jacob to Jake and Charlie, but not yet. That would mean that he'd be going back to Amritsar, and he had to quash that bit of hope before it took root in his heart. One successful operation did not automatically revoke his exile, and dreams of his home and his parents were dangerous enough. 

“Not now, maybe not ever.” had been his mother's words even though it had pained her to say them.

So he focused on making a list of concrete things that he could accomplish or request from the Council if they ever deigned to reply to his letters. A little room above the curiosity shop would do for quick liaisons, but would Evie want to consider starting a family in such a small space? Similarly, the train simply wouldn't do for a place to raise a child or two or more. 

With the Templars out of power, however temporarily, the Kenway mansion could be recovered. It could possibly serve as a home, and Edward Kenway's vault still needed to be evaluated. Even if he didn't live there himself, the Council should purchase it anyways, just to have it in their possession. 

Construction was already underway on a telegraph line that would run uninterrupted all the way to India. Henry made a note to ask Aleck about the feasibility of adding a dedicated line for the Brotherhood to the telegraph. The TransAtlantic line already allowed contact between London and the New World, and conversations could be had with a contact in New York in a couple of hours instead of sending letters via steamers that took a week and a half at best to travel between the two countries. Imagine the convenience of being able to tap out a message to Amritsar and have it arrive within hours instead of taking a month and a half by the Overland Route. 

And when Aleck figured out his phonetic telegraph, he could hear his parents' voices again, and even if his father severely disapproved of the whole notion and told him so in no uncertain terms, Henry would be able to hear it from thousands of miles away. 

He grimaced. If he and his father ever spoke to each other again, save for pleasantries, it'd be a miracle worthy of a saint. On the other hand, his mother had served as a bridge between them before. Perhaps, armed with the knowledge of the engagement and possible future grandchildren, she'd be willing to do so again. 

After returning to the livery stable to stable the mares and store the carriage, Henry made his way back to the curio shop. It was mid-morning, and the sun shone dully through the overcast clouds. He fit the key in the lock and found he was more than a little disappointed that Evie hadn't made it back before him. 

Granted, they were still in the early days of their relationship and engagement, so the euphoria had to be expected, but Henry still felt his cheeks flush. He was sure that the effect would wear off at some point, but until it did, he'd have to avoid situations where grinning like a lunatic would cost him. 

He set out his pen, an inkwell, and a piece of parchment then he steeled himself to write a letter home. 

_My dear Mother and Father,_

_The air in England has greatly improved since last I saw you as has the company. I'm sure you remember my tutor, Ethan. Unfortunately, he is no longer with us, but I imagine he would be proud of the legacy that he leaves behind. His children, Evie and Jacob, have taken up where he left off and achieved precisely the goal that he set out to achieve in life._

_I do have an announcement of my own to make: Evie has accepted my proposal, and we hope to be wed before the year is out. We hope to ask for your assistance in the planning since she appears interested in our culture and wishes to pay a visit to Amritsar, weather permitting, of course. Evie is an intelligent, sensible, lovely young woman which just makes her acceptance all that much more bewildering._

_I remain yours truly,_

_Henry Green_

He kept it deliberately short so that it could be sent as soon as possible via telegraph. As soon as two hours but usually longer due to interference from the weather and geography, Aleck had said with a sparkle in his eye. Anything was an improvement over the forty-five days or so that it would take to send something via the Overland Route, but the fact that he could send a short telegram... Well, that would assume that the Brotherhood would listen to his suggestion about stationing agents in the various telegraph offices and learn to utilize it effectively.

Henry exhaled, trying not to sink into self pity while he waited for the ink to dry. Wiping off his stylus and putting away his writing materials, he massaged his temples. If the response to the telegram was positive, then he'd have more to deal with than just a reply – he'd likely see his parents for the first time since they'd helped him recover four years ago. 

The shop darkened briefly as Evie arrived, and her broad smile faded as she took in Henry's appearance. “Good morning, darling,” she called to him in greeting. 

“And I think I have the message completed,” he responded, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The shorter the message, the easier it is to send, according to Aleck, but I think I managed to convey Starrick's death, the liberation of the city, and the announcement of our engagement without giving too much away if it gets intercepted.”

“Could it be intercepted?” Evie asked, genuinely curious. She tilted her head as she approached the counter, attempting to read the short note Henry had composed. 

Henry shrugged and held his arms open in a gesture of uncertainty. Evie seized the opportunity to embrace her beloved, arms encircling his waist. Henry reciprocated and kissed her forehead. 

“That's why I worded it so vaguely. I'm just a homesick lad writing to his parents, telling them about new friends and announcing his engagement to a pretty girl. That's all.” 

“Then we best get this over to the telegraph office then.” Evie disengaged herself from the embrace and picked up the note. “'Bewildering'? I don't think it was all that bewildering at all. In fact, Jacob started teasing me as we drove your carriage to your shop that first day in London.” 

“So you're saying that if Jacob can see it, then it should be obvious to anyone?” Henry held his hands in an echo of the same gesture he'd done on the rooftop “Shall we?”

Evie folded the paper in half then in quarters and led the way out of the shop. “Subtlety was never Jacob's strong suit. He'll be the first to admit it. He'll get it eventually, but sometimes, he needs a giant arrow pointing to the location on the map.” 

The walk to the telegraph office was pleasant and full of sly touches to each other's hands. Evie kept the note clenched tightly in her left as she eventually entwined the fingers of her right with Henry's. The prolonged contact brought a smile to his face that Evie liked immensely. She squeezed his hand as they knocked on the door and Aleck let them in. 

“Ah, Miss Frye, Mr. Green, what brings you two to see me on this fine morning?” The inventor was obviously pleased to see them.

“We need to send a message, Aleck. To Amritsar, India, on the most secure line you can manage.” Henry was forthright, direct, and trying his hardest not to be nervous, but he couldn't hold all of it back. 

Evie intervened and smiled at Henry and held up their linked hands. 

“Oh!” Aleck exclaimed. “Congratulations! Sending a note to your parents, Mr. Green?” The Scotsman looked positively pleased at the news. 

“Indeed, Aleck. How long do you think it'll take?” Henry's relief at being able to tell others how he felt about Evie was palpable. 

“Depending on how bad the interference is, it could be as little as two or three hours or as much as a week.” Aleck brightened as he added, “Don't worry, Henry, I'll get the message to them, and they'll be thrilled to hear the news, no doubt about that.”

Evie proffered the folded note and looked to Henry as the inventor took the missive, unfolded it, and read it. Aleck nodded as he finished it and folded the note again. “I'll have this on its way by the evening.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bell,” Evie replied warmly. “I'm sure Mr. Green's parents will be pleased to receive the news so soon.” 

“Of course!” Aleck paused then asked, “To whom should I be sending this to, Mr. Green?”

Henry swallowed then replied quietly, “Pyara Kaur at the summer palace. Father may be a bit peeved that I don't address it to him, but I want him to see the benefit of using telegraph outside of the Council's chambers.” 

“And who could be mad at hearing that he's going to be a grandfather at some point?” Aleck grinned broadly. “I'll get the news to them, and soon enough, you'll be hearing back from them. We'll probably hear them cheer all the way from India.” 

“We should get back to the shop then. Our research was interrupted yesterday due to some unforeseen circumstances.” Evie's expression was perfectly serious, and even though Henry knew better, he nodded gravely. 

Of course, he was half-hoping that they'd be distracted by the same activities again, but they didn't need Aleck to know that. 

“Off with the two of you then! I'll let you know if or when I get any message back.” Aleck's eyes fairly twinkled as he ushered them towards the door. “Send me an invitation once you've set a date!”

“We will, we assure you,” Evie called back as they left the inventor's offices. They returned to the curiosity shop, hands still clasped together, and Henry barely had the door open before Evie kissed him in the doorway. 

He stumbled back, coming to a stop once he backed into the shelves, causing the smaller items to rattle and threaten to fall to the floor. Evie caught hold of his robes and chased his mouth with hers, fervently kissing him. Henry's hands came up to rest on the small of her back as he returned her kisses, slowing them down until they could rest calmly against the shelves. 

As soon as she could catch her breath, Evie murmured, “At this rate, they very likely will be grandparents when they arrive for the wedding.” 

He didn't have to ask which 'they' she meant. “Well, eloping would solve the issue of what sort of wedding to have – whatever could be done the quickest, and then we could get back to doing what got us in the predicament in the first place. If it's any help, I think I was only born in wedlock by sheer luck.” 

“While that would be fun,” Evie responded with a smirk, “Don't get me wrong, but I would like to experience all the ritual that goes along with marriage.” 

“ _Anand karaj_ ,” Henry corrected airily.

Evie looked thoroughly puzzled. “What does that mean?”

“The ceremony is called _anand karaj_. It means 'blessed union'.” Henry paused to gauge Evie's reaction. She might like the idea of his culture's wedding practices, but was it because she was truly interested or because she despised corsets and the many layers of fabric that went with a London wedding? 

“ _Anand karaj_ ,” she repeated. “I like that. You'll have to tell me more so that I can greet my future mother and father-in-law properly.”

“I think your father and my parents were close enough friends that mine would insist on dropping any formality quickly.” Henry gently nudged Evie towards the back of the shop, but she kept her fingers curled in his robes as she drew him along with her. 

“You're implying that we would have met eventually then.”

“That's certainly an interesting possibility.” Would they have fallen in love so quickly or at all if they had grown up alongside each other? Would he have still had his defect and been unable to take a life? Would it have been a moot point if he had still failed his blooding and not had a place to be exiled to? Would Ethan have still charged in to prevent his execution? 

Evie sounded much more confident than his thoughts. “We would, and I would have had an ally who loved reading the histories as much as I did. Perhaps our first kiss would have been in a library instead of a vault.” 

“And would have promptly been followed by a proposal from my father to yours to have us married off as soon as you reached an appropriate age.” 

“You're certain of that?” Evie lightly tugged on his robes before releasing him. She started to sort through the papers, the notes already taken and the blank pages waiting for the scratch of a stylus. 

“Up to a point, yes. This is all predicated on us showing interest in each other, and as the daughter of a longtime friend of his, my father would have had little issue. Thankfully, his interest had been directed elsewhere before the subject could come up.” On the upside, if they ever needed to slaughter an animal for food, Henry would be able to volunteer his services.

She looked at him and held up the page with “Dear Evie” written across the top. “Did you want to keep this or burn it?” 

“Keep it.” He would tuck it away as a reminder of his moment of weakness. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to add too many more to the collection. 

Evie raised an eyebrow and put the page at the bottom of the research pile. Henry nodded his thanks. 

“At any rate, I'm glad we can start busying ourselves with other plans.” Henry injected a bit of cheer to his voice to encourage Evie to follow his lead. “It may not be the Grail itself, but it's long been rumored that Excalibur itself was a piece of Eden, and I've heard some folklore regarding Merlin and Arthur that could be promising.” 

“Oh, really?” A woman after his own heart, Evie beckoned Henry to come stand by her at the counter. “Something other than medieval poetic epics?” 

“Indeed. Like I said, it might be a throwaway bit of folklore, but the idea of Merlin as a blacksmith and Arthur his apprentice is admittedly an intriguing one.” Henry reached for his inkwell and stylus, feeling more in his element as he began to write out the story for Evie. 

“Admittedly, it's not a common story that I've heard in regards to Excalibur, but a sword forged from meteorites sounds similar to something made by the Precursors, doesn't it?” 

The rest of the afternoon passed relatively quietly between reading, not-so-accidental touches, and meaningful looks. Henry prided himself on the fact that they actually made it through the work day without closing the shop and sneaking off to his rooms above the shop to make love instead of actually doing research. 

Perhaps there was hope for them yet. 

Evie touched his arm and smiled at him. In response, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. Well, with all their hard work, a break from research was warranted...

– 

Amritsar, Punjab  
India

Arbaaz Mir stood before the Council of the Indian Brotherhood and looked as impassive as he could manage under the circumstances. He clutched a coded letter that had arrived on the most recent steamship from London. It was dated some forty-five days earlier, but the news was still enough to kindle a spark of hope in the darkened stone chamber.

Two Master Assassins sat on either side of Hamid, the Indian Brotherhood's Mentor and chief strategist. Still the most formidable in terms of presence if not strength and vigor, the eldest Assassin still had a hand in the training and tactics of the apprentices and even some of the full fledged Assassins. Hamid's gaze did not waver from his former charge's in the slightest.

“And Brother George is insistent that Jayadeep was instrumental in the liberation of the city from Templar control?” The Master sitting at leftmost side of the table facing Arbaaz had asked the question, earning a withering look from Hamid. Rohan ignored the Mentor and raised an eyebrow. 

“He is.” Arbaaz kept his expression as neutral as possible and only briefly glanced at Hamid. The Mentor had raised him after finding Arbaaz living on the streets, the younger man's own family having died under the rule of the governor installed by the Maharaja Ranjit Singh, and he was certainly grateful for all that Hamid had done for him. However, Hamid had also sent him to guard the Maharaja, whom he'd despised, and had ordered his son's death when his blooding resulted in Arbaaz killing the Templar in street outside in full view of the public. 

Rohan nodded curtly and looked at his fellow Council members. “If it can be confirmed that Jayadeep's role was indeed a substantial one, I don't see a reason why his sentence could not be lifted and allow him to come back to Amritsar.” 

The other Council members – Sikandar, Indrajit, and Kalidas – nodded, Indrajit brightening noticeably at the idea. He leaned forward and craned his head to look at Rohan directly. “I don't see wh-” 

“I do,” Hamid rumbled. Age had enfeebled his body, but his tongue was as sharp as ever. He shot a baleful glare at Rohan. “You suggest that we bring a boy back here who cannot stomach taking a life? Who knows how much of an influence the pitiful English Brotherhood has had on him?”

“I agree that the English Brotherhood has its faults,” Arbaaz interjected. “For too long, they've been little more than fleas on the back of the Templar dog in their own country instead of routing the Templars from the city. Instead, what if it's the influence of our ways that turned the tide?” 

Indrajit's voice was soft as he spoke. “Mentor, much has been made of Jayadeep's failure to act, but that was eight years ago. None of us are the same man we were then, and we're certainly haven't been boys for a long time, some of us longer than we would like to admit. We must allow for him to have changed as well.”

“I don't recall you being so softhearted when I trained you, Indrajit.” Hamid sniffed. “Are you feeling so sympathetic as well, Kalidas?” 

“To be truthful, we are willing to entertain the idea of lifting the sentence,” The Master Assassin in question responded, leaning forward and meeting Arbaaz's eyes with his own. “Which I don't think should have been issued in the first place.” Kalidas held up a hand as Hamid started to protest. “I'm well aware of the need for discipline, Mentor, but even Altair himself was only symbolically killed and sent into exile, and he deliberately killed an innocent along with compromising the Brotherhood and killing in plain sight. Kulpreet was sharpening her blade and readying the block to behead Jayadeep for his cowardice after just one mission.”

Hamid appeared ready to unleash a volley of invective when he gasped and coughed, covering his mouth. The fact that a small fleck of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth did not escape Arbaaz. The Mentor of the Indian Brotherhood seemed to be the chief opponent of his son's return, and he quashed the dark hope that Hamid would die and remove any remaining impediment to lifting the exile.

How ungrateful, Arbaaz observed. Wishing the death of the person that raised him in order to get his son back. 

Sikandar intervened. “Mentor,” he said calmly, placing a hand on Hamid's shoulder. “Given the length and apparent complexity of the Templar's rule, as Brother Westhouse said, the fact that active operations took less than a year once there were enough Assassins to actually be effective, is certainly worthy of note. It would be worth at least hearing from Jayadeep himself what his role was in the matter. If it was as crucial as the letter says, then we can consider the issue of lifting the exile.

“After all, you mercifully chose instead to let him live. Why not reap the fruits of your decision?”

Arbaaz watched Hamid carefully. Sikandar appealed to the elderly Mentor's ego, and while that usually brought the desired results, Arbaaz feared that Hamid would see through the ploy and continue to balk at the suggestion. 

Hamid covered his mouth as if to stroke his beard, but Arbaaz saw the quick hitch of the old man's shoulders as he coughed again. Eventually, Hamid offered a rumbling reply. “Go to London and see the boy then. Verify that what the British Brotherhood, or what's left of it, says is true. If the boy has indeed played a role in the liberation of the city and he has proven himself as a warrior like his father, then send a message back to the Council. We will vote after we have this confirmation.” 

The Mentor eyed Arbaaz and smirked faintly. “I hope London was worth you getting down on your knees and begging.” 

His tongue held in check by the merest of margins, Arbaaz acknowledged the Council members and Hamid with a curt nod. “I will let you know my findings as soon as I can confirm whether or not Brother George tells the truth in his letter.” 

He turned on his heel and walked purposefully from the Council's chambers as harsh whispers between the Council members arose behind him. Rohan's voice was the loudest, and Arbaaz could faintly make out a few words even as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. 

Arbaaz allowed himself a cautious sort of optimism as he mounted his horse and rode for his home. Pyara would be ecstatic, he was sure. Eight years ago, he'd come within a hair's breadth of losing both. Perhaps in as little as two months, he'd be able to bring his son home and frown at him as he read books instead of practiced his combat forms or wake him up if he overslept. If Arbaaz could do it all over again...

When he arrived at the summer palace, Arbaaz found the din of activity louder than usual. He dismounted and handed off the horse to be cooled off, untacked, and stabled then went in search of his wife. The servants of the household were suspiciously cheerful as they brushed past him with wide smiles. 

As he entered their bedchamber, Arbaaz was a little taken aback; his wife was in the process of selecting garments for a formal function by the look of the _choli_ , _lehenga_ , and _dupatta_ in various crimson hues laid out on their bed for viewing. Pyara greeted her husband with a winsome smile. “We are going to London, Arbaaz.”

“Are we now.” He tilted his head at her and held up the letter. “How did you know? I just received the letter from George Westhouse with news of the city's liberation this morning.” 

Pyara proudly held up a slip of paper herself, the message obviously much shorter than the one that Arbaaz held in his hand. “Our son sent us a telegram.”

“A telegram?” Arbaaz was most definitely curious. “How long did that take to send?”

“According to the messenger who delivered it, one of the telegraph offices in London started to send it yesterday morning. They had to confirm that they had the message correct which took until this morning.” Pyara broadened her smile as she added, “Our son is getting married, Arbaaz.”

“That's a detail that George didn't mention in his letter,” Arbaaz muttered as he unfolded the message. “He says that the Templar control over the city has been broken-”

Pyara interrupted him, reading from the telegram, “The air in England has greatly improved since last I saw you as has the company.”

Arbaaz continued where he left off, glancing at his wife. “The twins were more than a little eager to begin the work of wresting control of the city away from the Templars, and thanks to the contacts and the groundwork laid by Jayadeep, London is free again.” 

“I'm sure you remember my tutor, Ethan. Unfortunately, he is no longer with us, but I imagine he would be proud of the legacy that he leaves behind. His children, Evie and Jacob, have taken up where he left off and achieved precisely the goal that he set out to achieve in life.” Pyara sighed and looked at her husband. “I wish that he could have seen it for himself.”

“Mm. I wish he could have, too, my love.” A little more than a year ago, they'd received the letter from George Westhouse with the news of Ethan Frye's death by pleurisy. Arbaaz felt the echo of his grief in the back of his mind. An Assassin should have been more likely to die by an enemy's blade rather than drown in the fluids of his own illness.

Pyara touched her husband's cheek, smiling softly and holding the telegraph so that he could see it as well. “I'm sure he would have liked to see this too. ' I do have an announcement of my own to make: Evie has accepted my proposal, and we hope to be wed before the year is out. We hope to ask for your assistance in the planning since she appears interested in our culture and wishes to pay a visit to Amritsar, weather permitting, of course. Evie is an intelligent, sensible, lovely young woman which just makes her acceptance all that much more bewildering.' “

“Weather permitting? I presume that means with the Council's blessing, but he's unsure that they would agree.” Arbaaz held the letter so that Pyara could read its contents. “The Council is inclined to lift the exile if it can be confirmed that our son played a substantial part in ending the Templar influence over the city.”

“He could come home then.” 

The warmth in his wife's eyes was contagious, and Arbaaz found himself smiling and drawing Pyara close. He felt her arms wrap around his middle, her hands nestled in the small of his back. “He could come home, yes. I'm afraid that I don't like the discrepancies between the messages. George is certain that Jayadeep's efforts were important, but our son's telegram makes no mention of them. 

“In fact, our son distinctly says that Evie's acceptance of his marriage proposal is bewildering.” Arbaaz furrowed his brow and read from the letter. “'Left on his own, he flourishes when allowed to plan the course of action. If he is not kept occupied with meaningful work, I suspect that despair sets in. Evie had sent me a letter asking about a tome in Ethan's library regarding some of the British Brotherhood's artifacts, and I made the journey from Crowley to London and arrived at the curiosity shop just as Jayadeep started to compose a letter to Evie. He denied that it was anything important, but his morose demeanor suggested otherwise.

“'Luckily, the book Evie asked for sparked his interest. If it had not, I suspect I would not have such pleasant news to share with you.'” Arbaaz glanced at his wife. “What happened between the writing of this letter and the transmission of the telegram? The dates are over a month apart.” 

Pyara sighed, pulling away from her husband, and turned to the array of garments. “I'm afraid Jayadeep still harbors some melancholy over his failed blooding. Compound that with the disaster that was the undercover mission Ethan assigned to him, and I can easily see where he could have a less than favorable impression of his own skills. With the twins going into action and succeeding so quickly where he has had a more difficult time finding success, I can only imagine that he had a crisis of faith. ” 

Guilt, frustration, and worry warred for Arbaaz's thoughts. He'd merely acted as soon as he saw the Templar and his own son, who had the makings of a great Assassin, fall from the window of the Templar's bedchamber. He'd silently cursed everything he could think of as he rode back to his home to drop Jayadeep there before informing Hamid of the botched mission. 

He had not expected Hamid to have his son arrested and brought to the Darkness before sentencing Jayadeep to death. 

Finally, he muttered, “I wish I'd listened to Ethan if that makes you feel any better about the whole mess.” But Hamid had been firm ever since Arbaaz had first informed his Mentor of his son's prowess as a warrior; that was all Jayadeep could ever be, recommendations that he become a Mentor or tactician be damned.

Although, now that Arbaaz thought about it, in the intervening years, Hamid had not trained his replacement either, and the man had to be nearing eighty years old if he hadn't crossed that threshold already. Was Hamid so jealous that he would put the Brotherhood in jeopardy by not training his replacement?

“Arbaaz, are you proud of him?”

Pyara's question shook him out of his reverie. Arbaaz exhaled slowly, stepping forward and moving some of the garments to free up enough space for him to sit on the edge of the bed. “I still don't know exactly what went wrong. Jayadeep showed so much promise, so much skill, and he...”

“He was not you.” Pyara laid a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder. 

He smiled grimly, glancing down at the soft grey veins of the marble floor. “He was not me. We'd practiced so often...”

“Those poor animals. There was so much meat that had to be preserved so that it didn't spoil, and Jayadeep did gain a certain sense of the importance of a quick kill versus a slow, agonizing one.” Pyara stood in front of her husband and set the telegram down beside him. She cupped his face in her hands and murmured, “It hurt to see you two hardly speaking to each other when we went to London three years ago. Will you do the same when we go to see what's become of London?”

Arbaaz averted his gaze, attempting to avoid looking at his wife directly. “I would prefer that we did not. However, I'd like to point out that he did not seek me out either.”

“And if someone asked me how I knew that you and Jayadeep were related, I would tell them that you two were easily the most stubborn, recalcitrant men I knew.” Receiving a withering look for her troubles, Pyara let her hands fall from Arbaaz's face. “Please consider speaking to him and healing whatever is festering between my husband and my son. He'll need you once he and Evie start a family of their own.” 

Arbaaz set the letter aside and looked at his wife, subdued and thoughtful. “It's not exactly common for Assassins to live long enough to even be grandparents.”

“You would know exactly what it feels like to hold your child for the first time. You'll have to teach him how to be a father and hold his child properly.” Pyara smiled wistfully. “That's still my favorite memory of you two, you know. I was still weak from giving birth, and you were utterly entranced.”

Arbaaz snorted. “I was terrified.”

“Terrified, yes, and you tried to back away when the midwife asked you to hold him while she helped me up. You stammered...”

“I said, 'I will hurt him and drop him and see, he's already crying.'” Arbaaz sighed. “Which promptly stopped as soon as she stepped on my foot and pushed him at me.” He mimicked the midwife's rough voice, “'Talk to him. He knows you already. He knows your voice. He knows that you mean safety.'” 

“And if someone asked me what a man looks like when he falls in love, well, I would have to say that the moment your eyes met his and softened, that must be it.” Pyara leaned in and brushed her lips over her husband's furrowed brow. “In that moment, it was like there was nothing else in the room other than the three of us.” 

A pang of regret tugged at Arbaaz's thoughts. When his son was born, the world truly had fallen away for a few moments. He'd missed his own mother and father when they'd died under Kasmir's cruel governor, but he didn't realize how much it would hurt that they weren't there when he held his newborn son. He'd lain in bed with Pyara afterwards, fondly watching as she fed their child for the first time. She'd been exhausted, magnificent, and glorious. He'd counted himself a lucky man that she considered him worthy to be her husband.

He finally had a family again, and nothing was going to tear it away from him. Nothing except his own foolishness, it seemed.

Finally, Arbaaz answered, “How can I forget? I don't think I slept through the night for the next six months.” 

“Which is impressive because Jayadeep slept through the night within a month,” Pyara teased. “Now that very same little boy that you could not stand to hear even the slightest distressed cry from his lips is grown up and will be starting a family of his own with the daughter of one of our oldest friends.” 

She held a hand out to Arbaaz, who used it as an anchor to rise to his feet. “You'll have to tell him what it's like to be a father, and you can't do that if neither of you give the other a second glance. Talk to him, Arbaaz, for the sake of our grandchildren if nothing else.” 

He smirked and replied, “I like how you've gone from one grandchild to multiple grandchildren. Wishful thinking, my love?” 

Pyara inclined her head at her husband and gave him the same even look that she'd given him when he'd tried to shirk his responsibilities to protect her grandfather from death at the hands of the Templars. Her bright blue eyes hadn't faded a bit in the thirty or so years since. 

When she didn't respond to his comment, Arbaaz exhaled and shook his head. “I miss those days too, Pyara. When Jay was so little and full of promise. He was supposed to be a greater Assassin than I was.” 

“Perhaps in a different way, he still can. We'll find out once we get to London.” She held out a hand, gesturing at the richly adorned fabric. “I don't want to wait for too long before we travel, so I hope Evie wouldn't mind trying on a few of my old things as possible wedding dresses. My patience wouldn't last long enough for something new to be made and embroidered.” 

Given the level of detail shown by the seamstresses who had created the garments she'd selected, it could be weeks before they could travel if they waited for a new set of wedding clothes to be made. Arbaaz found himself unsure that he could wait that long either.

“Of course, you're not eager to see our son.” Arbaaz felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards. “I'm surprised you haven't dragged me to the docks with our trunks packed already.” 

“Only because I still hadn't picked out which ones I wanted to bring with us,” Pyara returned. She linked her hands with her husband's, and smiled warmly. “Let's go. Let's go find out what our son has been up to these past three years, and see if it is substantial enough for us to bring him back home.” 

Arbaaz pulled his wife into a tight embrace, feeling her hands circle around to the small of his back.

“Yes, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the love! It's been a small eternity since I had the confidence to post anything, and the kudos and comments really help!


	3. Charing Cross Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reluctant reunion of father and son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mea culpa for the delay! Far too much time was spent looking at a blank screen while everyone's kudos and comments came in and buoyed my confidence at just the right time.

The boards lining the Whitechapel fighting ring thudded dully as Henry fell back against them, raising a faint cloud of dust as he slid to the packed dirt floor, the breath knocked out of him.

“Again,” Evie prompted. The British Assassin stood near the center of the ring, fists raised and ready for Henry to make another attempt at besting her. In the dim light of the fighting ring, she seemed less like a flesh and blood woman than a statue of an ancient warrior maiden come to life.

Henry rose to his feet, using the boards lining the ring to steady himself. He gasped for breath and shook his head, sending droplets of sweat down into the dust. “You're a harsh mistress, Evie. We've been at this for well over an hour.”

His beloved's voice was firm. “Again, Mr. Green.”

Henry exhaled and closed his eyes. Evie had been very strict about his training over the past six weeks or so, and she showed no signs of letting up. He reopened his eyes and walked back to the center of the ring, facing her and raising his fists to mirror her stance.

After a moment, Evie struck first, dropping her shoulder and driving her fist at Henry's bare midsection. Henry blocked the strike with his forearm, pivoting to protect his middle as she sought to knee him. She caught his jaw with a punch from her off hand, causing him to stagger slightly as he drew back from her.

Evie didn't let him get too far away, pursuing Henry and trading blows with him until she had him backed up against the boards. Henry slipped to the side and put some distance between them with a straight legged kick to Evie's side, earning him an approving smile from his betrothed. She quickly closed the gap between them and grabbed for his shoulders. Henry brought his hands up, pushing her right hand off his shoulder and ducking underneath her arm. He stepped behind Evie, turning to face her and getting a knee to his midsection for his troubles.

Henry reflected as he bent over, gasping, that it was nearly the same move that he'd used in his own duel with Crawford Starrick. He hadn't taken the Shroud's rapid healing abilities into account when he'd sliced open Starrick's side, and he'd been caught off guard when the Templar stood tall instead of clutching his side as his intestines fell to the ground. Evie would not be distracted by her beloved, however, and caught Henry with a blow to his jaw, knocking him to the dirt once more.

“One of these days, I'll be the one slumped on the ground,” Evie offered as she helped Henry to his feet. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and shook his head. “It takes time to get back into fighting shape, Henry. We both know that.”

She pulled him close, signifying the end of sparring practice with an embrace. As sore as he was likely to be in the coming days, Henry returned the gesture and rested his forehead against hers for a few moments. Henry appreciated Evie's efforts, and on days when he was less successful or, to be honest, he ignored her tells for some reason or another, it was good to be reminded that she still cared for him.

Evie released him, running her hands over his chest and shoulders. “Going by the improvements to your muscle tone by itself, you've made excellent progress.”

Henry let himself bask in the warmth of her attentions. He clasped her hands in his, raising them to his mouth to be kissed reverently. “I've had an excellent training partner.”

He could have sworn he saw Evie's cheeks flush a rosy pink as he looked up, but she definitely wore a knowing smile on her lips.

“You flatter me, darling,” Evie responded, freeing her hands from Henry's. Her knowing smile widened into a smirk as the British Assassin rested her hands on Henry's shoulders. “But it won't get you out of training practice in two days.”

Henry rested his hands on Evie's sides just above her hips. He leaned in close as if to kiss his beloved and whispered instead, “I'll have to try something else then. You seemed to like what we tried last night.”

Before Evie could respond, Henry heard a rough cough from the far side of the ring. They both turned their heads towards the offender who'd interrupted them, and Henry had to conceal his disappointment behind an air of affected geniality. “Good morning, Brother George.”

“Good morning to you, Henry, Evie,” George Westhouse called over. “Jacob said you two would likely be here at this hour.” The elder Assassin stood at the edge of the fighting ring, forearms resting on the edge of the ring by the clothing they'd draped there to keep clean while they sparred. Henry took note of the older man's critical eye and surmised that Brother George would be informing his father when his parents arrived.

Reluctantly parting from his beloved, Henry stayed silent as he approached George, straying off to the side to start dressing himself. As he buttoned his shirt, he felt Evie's hand touch the small of his back as she followed him. Henry let a quick smile come to his mouth before he turned away to deal with the rest of his robes. Let George pass that fact along as well, Henry decided.

“What brings you to London, George?” Thankfully, Evie's curiosity could serve as a buffer before George could ask for more details.

“I have a piece of news that Henry might be interested in,” George answered, nodding in the Indian Assassin's direction. “I sent a letter to India after you ended Crawford Starrick, alerting Mr. Green's parents to the news of the mission's success, and if my memory serves, they should arrive today if they left soon after they received the letter in Amritsar.”

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” Henry remarked as he turned, fastening his robes. Evie lightly elbowed him in the ribs as she unwrapped her fists.

“What Henry means to say is that we sent a telegram to them about six weeks ago to announce our engagement.” Evie glanced at her fiancé. “We asked for their assistance with planning the wedding.”

“Then to Charing Cross Station then. That's where the train from Dover comes in, and they should be here by this afternoon,” George responded with a firm nod. “I'm sure they'll be delighted to meet their future daughter-in-law and see what their son has been up to in the last three years or so.”

Henry stayed quiet as he finished wrapping the sashes and cords of his robes and tying them off. Three years ago, he'd thought that he'd been hallucinating when he first raised his head from his knees in the Thames tunnel and saw his parents standing there. It had only been the presence of Ethan Frye and George Westhouse lingering in the background that had clued him in to the fact that Arbaaz Mir and Pyara Kaur were very real and not figments of a fevered imagination.

Evie touched his arm with a smile. Of course, she'd be eager, Henry thought, responding with a small smile of his own. He stepped into his leather khussa and opened the door to the ring as Evie buttoned her shirtwaist. George cleared his throat, catching Henry's attention while they waited.

“They'll be proud of you, Henry. I'm sure they will,” George spoke quietly.

“That remains to be seen.” Henry tried to keep his skepticism out of his voice, but George must have seen it in his eyes.

“You've always been too hard on yourself.”

Henry merely raised an eyebrow as Evie approached after neatly redressing herself in her shirtwaist, vest, and jacket. She touched his arm with a soft smile and nodded at George Westhouse. “We're working on improving that trait for Mr. Green. He's a rather attentive student when given the right incentive and directions.”

“Your father did say he was one of the most promising Assassins that he'd ever trained.” 

“If we've learned anything from the past year, Brother George, it's that perhaps Master Ethan was not always in the right when it came to certain topics.” Henry took no pleasure in watching the brief jolt of pain in the elder Assassin's expression, but letting the fiction continue that he was a 'promising' Assassin was an exercise in frustration and futility. It was for the best that they faced that now instead of continuing to pretend that he'd ever be a great Assassin.

“However, Father would have been happy to learn that strong personal feelings don't have to prove a detriment to a mission.” Evie carefully threaded her fingers with Henry's. “I think our bond strengthens the work we do together as opposed to weakening it.”

Henry inclined his head towards his beloved, giving her a slight nod as George added, “I have to agree with Evie. You two seem to work well together, going by the results thus far. No sense in forcing you to work separately if you keep up this level of work.”

George gestured towards the opening to the cobblestone streets of Whitechapel's main roads. “Come along then. Jacob will be waiting for us at the station.”

“We'd best hurry. We wouldn't want Henry's parents to think that the British Brotherhood hasn't the sense to greet them properly.” Evie tugged at her fiancé's hand, trying to spark a brighter smile in Henry with her own. “Besides, I'm sure Henry would like to see them again just on principle.”

“Of course,” Henry replied, his mind more turbulent than his calm demeanor would allow. Evie might worry that she wouldn't measure up to the high standards of a Master Assassin of the Indian Brotherhood; Henry already knew that he didn't. Hence, he was a shopkeeper-cum-spymaster for the British Brotherhood, a poor substitute for the plans that his father had laid out for him when he was a small boy.

Evie would meet his father's standards with very little effort, he was sure.

She tugged at his hand. “Let's go. I don't want to keep them waiting.”

“Shall we?” George nodded towards the streets. Henry exhaled and allowed Evie to lead him from the fighting ring

He followed the British Assassins in contemplative silence, still marveling over the ability to walk through the streets relatively unmolested by Templar agents. Some of the same faces now wore the colors of the Rooks and followed Jacob and Evie. They no longer pursued Henry when he passed by them, but he had to consciously resist the urge to flee when one of them took notice of him.

Henry felt Evie's grip tighten on his hand as she drew it up to her mouth. Her smile was visible as she pressed her lips to to his knuckles.

“It'll be fine, Henry. You'll see.”

“I'm sure you're right, Evie.” He tugged her hand to his mouth to return the gesture. “They'll be more than pleased with you.”

Henry surmised that every young bride worried whether she would measure up to the standards set by her prospective husband's parents, but Evie would want to demonstrate her worth as an Assassin as well. He'd tried to assure her that she would likely be accepted by virtue of the bond shared by her father and his, but he'd had little luck.

His beloved leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “I was referring to you, dear. You've been so tightly wound as of late that it's taken you forever to fall asleep. It can't be a coincidence.”

“I apologize,” Henry replied, noting that George glanced back at them while they spoke. He kept his gaze neutral and even as the older man gestured for them to follow him into the main entrance of Charing Cross Station where the train would arrive from Dover with his parents aboard. “I hope I'm not disturbing you and preventing you from getting a good night's sleep.”

Evie lightly jabbed him in the side. “That would be the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't it, darling?”

Smoothly, Henry ignored the jab. Evie managed to look disappointed even in her sleep as she pulled the bedding tightly around her when he rose early to check on Jake or any of his other sources. He'd like to stay wrapped up in her arms with the scent of her dark, disheveled hair filling his nose, but Henry was already on borrowed time until he finally succumbed to his memories and woke Evie with his thrashing and shivering.

He dreaded the day when he had to explain and see the disappointed look in her eyes as she realized that she'd had to endure these dreams if she married him and continued to share his bed.

Jacob awaited them at a bench on the raised platform above the boarding and disembarking areas. The only very slightly younger Frye twin inclined his head in acknowledgment as the other three Assassins climbed the stairs up to the platform to join him.

“Mornin', Greenie,” Jacob called as they approached. He leaned on the iron railing, forearms crossed, as he observed the milling crowds below. “I trust Evie hasn't tired you out too badly.” His conspiratorial wink hinted at precisely as to what he was referring. Henry pretended to look out over the crowds instead of reacting to Jacob's comment.

Evie made as if to answer, a hint of annoyance writ across her features. The din of the trains rattling the tracks as they departed made conversation impossible for a few moments, and as it subsided, Evie rolled her eyes at her brother. “Don't be crude, Jacob.”

The younger twin appeared unrepentant as he shrugged and turned back to watching the crowded platform below. “I was referring to the sparring practice you've been forcing on him, dear sister. You're the one being crude here. I should mention that he's only met with me once for sparring, so you must have a certain allure that I just don't have for him.”

Before Evie could dwell on the fact that Jacob had just revealed that he was skipping sparring practice, Henry smoothly riposted, “I'm afraid my afternoons are taken up with other business, Jacob. Perhaps if you could rouse yourself before noon...?”

While the Frye twins glowered at each other for a moment, Henry took up a position leaning with his forearms on top of the iron railing, similar to how Jacob stood as they arrived. Evie made sure to rest her arm against Henry's right as George pinched his nose and exhaled before peering over the iron railing himself on Henry's left side. The twins had been more than a handful to deal with during the campaign against Starrick; Henry suspected that raising them must have earned both Master Ethan and George most of their grey hairs.

“Do we know when they'll be arriving, George?” Evie peered at the elder British Assassin. Henry felt one corner of his mouth tug upwards; Evie's enthusiasm could make up for his own trepidation in a pinch.

“Early afternoon at the latest, I imagine. I wouldn't have guessed it, but Henry's mother sent a telegram when they arrived in Dover early this morning.” The elder Assassin gave a bemused laugh. “Apparently, your mother was less than enthused about the delay in getting onto the train, Henry, and had a few less than choice words about the crew loading their trunks.”

Henry politely smiled at George's comments even as he felt his heart flutter. They were already in England, and he'd actually get to see his parents for the first time in three years. Whatever the heartache and disappointment that he'd cause them in the next few months, Henry would actually get to see them. He swallowed hard and answered, “Mother would be used to the reaction she'd have received in Amritsar. I can't imagine that she'd take well to any extended amount of waiting even after a month and a half.”

Evie touched her hand to his and clasped it, bringing it close to her mouth. “Don't be nervous.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Henry retorted with a wan smile. “You haven't seen... They'll fall in love with you as quickly as I did.” He'd nearly said that she hadn't seen her parents in three years. Henry returned the gesture, brushing his lips over Evie's knuckles, as he mentally scolded himself for being so thoughtless. She'd never see her parents again unless she visited the cemetery in Crowley. 

Evie released his hand and leaned in to whisper into his ear, “I love you, Jayadeep Mir.” Her warm breath made him shiver even with heat arising from the crowds and the steaming locomotives arriving and departing the station.   
He let his mind wander as the Assassins watched the crowds below for the arrival of his parents. Henry schooled himself to remain impassive and even tried to look a little disappointed when Jacob muttered a few choice curses when he saw the street urchins ply their trade and thieve from unwitting victims. He'd taught them a few tricks here and there when he brought them food, and it was good to see his instruction put to use successfully. 

His heart stopped for just the briefest moment as the conductor announced the arrival of the train from Folkestone Station. While the crowd of Londoners was as thick as ever, Henry's eyes were drawn to Arbaaz Mir and Pyara Kaur as if they were the only two people standing on the train platform. Half-ashamed that he wasn't rushing to greet them, he turned quickly and forced himself to walk calmly down the stairs instead of leaping from the platform above. Evie followed as well and kept a tight grip on his hand as if to prevent him fleeing the train station.

“That's them, I take it,” Jacob noted dryly, falling in line behind them with George Westhouse lagging after the younger Frye.

“Aye, that's them,” George answered, resting what he must have thought was a reassuring hand on Henry's shoulder as he caught up with them at the base of the stairs.

It felt more like a shackle than a friendly show of affection, Henry thought.

Evie wouldn't let go of his hands either, and Henry could barely get them free in time as his mother closed the distance between them. Pyara reached out to embrace her son, and Henry was struck by the scent of his mother's hair, the flower she wore pinned behind one ear still. He returned the embrace as his mother leaned in and whispered in his ear, “We missed you so much, Jayadeep.”

It didn't occur to him that she'd spoken in Punjabi until the embrace ended and he had a chance to step back and see the puzzled looks on the British Assassins' faces. Before he could translate Pyara's greeting, his father pulled him close for an embrace of his own, one much tighter than the one from his wife. A moment passed before Henry felt lightheaded enough to weakly return the embrace and murmur, “Peace be with you, Father.” 

“And peace be with you as well, my son.”

With that, Arbaaz released his son, taking a step back. For a few seconds, both men regarded the other with something that passed for warmth until Henry's eyes fell. He cleared his throat as Pyara spoke.

“Of course, you must be Evie and Jacob,” she greeted warmly. “Ethan mentioned you in his letters, and it's wonderful to finally see you in the flesh.” Pyara took Evie's hands in hers. “We miss him dearly as well and wish he could have been here to see this.”

“I wish he could too,” Evie murmured in return. Henry rested a hand on Evie's back as she brightened and continued, “We're glad that you arrived safely. We hope to make it ourselves someday soon.”

Arbaaz raised an eyebrow in response. “You may get your wish. The Council in Amritsar wishes to hear more details of the operations in London, and they may want to hear some of it in person.”

Henry did his best not to blanch at the statement. The Council, with his father, had chosen the target of his failed blooding, hadn't they? It would be a cruel jest for them to invite him back to Amritsar, however temporarily, just long enough to see the Golden Temple and smell the jasmine that grew in the gardens of his home before sending him back to London.

When Henry hadn't responded, George took it upon himself to answer for him. “I'm sure that they'll be pleased to hear that it went so well.”

“Let's not be too hasty, Brother George,” Henry corrected, earning a cautious glance from his parents. “I imagine that my parents would like to retrieve their trunks and get out of the station first. There will be plenty of time later to discuss matters. Did you secure the same rooms as the last time that they visited?” 

'Visited' seemed like a safe word. Evie and Jacob didn't need to know what poor shape Henry had been in when they'd come to retrieve him from the Tunnel after he'd descended into such a severe melancholy that he didn't see the sunlight for over a year and a half.

“Aye, I did.”

“Then we should gather up their trunks and be off,” Henry informed him, cringing inwardly as he heard himself lecture his elder. He’d become rather impertinent in comparison to his demeanor when he’d first arrived in London eight years previously. “As much as we’d like to catch up here and now, there are certain subjects that cannot be discussed in public.” 

“Of course, Henry.” George gestured to Jacob and Evie. “I presume this is where your Rooks come in?” 

“Not one for heavy lifting, eh, George?” Jacob’s wolfish grin gave way to a short, sharp whistle and a wave of his gauntlet to signal the Rooks loitering underneath the staircase. “With me, lads. Make a good impression for our guests, would you?” 

Arbaaz tilted his head thoughtfully under his raised hood, and Henry had to quash a faint flicker of ire. The Rooks were tall and broad, mostly, and they were quick to obey one of their leaders’ commands even if it was only to carry luggage onto the racks of a waiting cart. 

“It seems that it’s not as lonely in London anymore,” Pyara noted, stepping between her husband and her son and linking her arm with Arbaaz’s. “It’s good to have a few friendly faces instead of Templars around every corner.” She winked knowingly at Evie, who responded with a warm smile of her own. 

Henry considered telling his mother how recently the Rooks had been Blighters, but he thought better of it. If he ever told her, it would be much, much later. “Having allies has provided a much-needed respite, Mother.”

“Shall we proceed to Berkley Square then? There’s so much to get started on,” Pyara tugged at her husband’s arm, urging Arbaaz forward with Henry and Evie trailing a few steps behind. “Your telegraph, while full of hidden meanings, did not tell us very much about our future daughter-in-law.” She peered back at her son as they walked through the crowds that parted around them. 

Londoners were used to seeing the Bengali dockworkers, certainly, and Henry had heard rumors of a short-lived curry house that had graced the city a half-century before, but the sight of the Princess Pyara Kaur was a lovely exception to the roughhewn men that usually walked among them. For her part, Pyara took the gaping looks in stride, offering a pleasant smile to a group of children that played just beyond the arched stone doorway leading them to the cart outside where the Rooks had already loaded his parents’ trunks. 

One of the children looked up at Henry and cocked his head ever so slightly at the Indian Assassin’s parents. Henry shook his head briefly, and the children resumed playing. Evie nudged Henry’s side and hissed, “What was that all about?” 

“Standing orders, remember?” Henry whispered back, avoiding a curious glance from his father. Arbaaz must have overheard. There’s no way that he couldn’t have, Henry thought, mortified. The children would have to make their attempt on his father’s pockets later. 

“Are we riding with our trunks, sweetheart?” His mother’s voice shook Henry from his mortification long enough for him to turn to Evie. She smoothly covered for her fiancé and replied, “Of course not…” Evie appeared aghast for a split second as Pyara laughed softly.

“Please, we’ll have time to discuss what to call each other later. ‘Mother’ is a bit familiar if we’ve only just met.” 

Evie smiled in relief and raised a gauntleted hand towards a green carriage that waited across the street. A growler with enough room for the four of them if Jacob and George rode with the trunks, the Rooks caught Evie’s gesture and shook the reins to bring the carriage near enough for them to board. Arbaaz helped his wife into the carriage, followed by Evie and himself, leaving Henry to close the door and settle himself beside his beloved.

“Where should I direct them?” Evie asked as she drew back the linen curtains to speak with the driver, who stood at her window. 

“55 Berkley Square,” Henry answered, receiving nods of confirmation from his parents. They remembered just as well as he did. 

The Rook, a man with a medium build and a rumpled top hat to go with his threadbare green coat, nodded as well and climbed up into the seat, causing the carriage to shift slightly with his weight. 

Evie couldn’t help but smirk. “Mr. Dickens had us investigate the house as being haunted.”

“Was it?” Arbaaz broke his silence. “I imagine if anyone could find if ghosts actually existed, it’d be an Assassin.” 

“I’m afraid it was a shut-in with clever pipes and levers that would cause air to blow and rock a baby’s cradle or make a piano start playing suddenly.” Evie seemed disappointed that she hadn’t found an actual ghost, Henry noticed. “Mr. Dickens said that he would see if he had one last story in him since the whole affair had been so intriguing.” 

“Is this Mr. Dickens a source of yours?” Arbaaz directed the question to his son, his dark eyes searching Henry’s for a reaction. 

“Of a sort,” Henry allowed begrudgingly.

Arbaaz lifted his chin, affixing Henry with a look that expected further details. Perhaps even a meeting. Henry averted his eyes, returning his gaze to Evie and encouraging her to continue with a tilt of his head. 

Evie was more than happy to continue making a good impression on her future father-in-law. “We happened to meet with Mr. Dickens by accident when we first got to the city. Jacob practically ran straight into him and even caused him to lose a few pages of a manuscript he’d been working on.”

“This wouldn’t happen to be Charles Dickens, the author, then?” Pyara asked, arching one fine eyebrow. “And you ran into him by accident?” 

“Mr. Dickens likes to patronize the pubs in London. He was leaving just as Henry was leading us to the curiosity shop.” 

Which then led to being noticed by a pair of slightly more perceptive than usual Blighters. Henry shook his head at the memory. Not quite how he’d wanted to make a first impression on his mentor’s children and fellow Assassins. 

“One day, you’ll have to tell us how you came befriend Mr. Dickens, Jay,” his mother said with a warm smile. “At the very least, I want to meet the fellow who sent your telegram to us. I imagine you trust him dearly.” 

“Of course, Mother.” As if Henry could resist his mother’s wishes.

“Aleck would be thrilled, I’m sure.” Evie squeezed his hand in hers. “Perhaps we can arrange a visit tomorrow or the next day. He helped us with a few modifications to our hidden blades as well.”

This earned Evie a raised eyebrow from Arbaaz. The twins were both on track to earning Arbaaz’s goodwill even if they weren’t the children of his dear friend, Henry imagined. 

“We’ll have to discuss the changes to the British Brotherhood. Obviously, there’s been a bit of a change in direction since the last time we were in London.” Arbaaz watched his son, intent on finding any sort of fire that had been kindled in Jayadeep in the years since he’d been drawn out of the Tunnel, half-starved and ill. Curiously, Arbaaz noted that Jayadeep seemed to avoid making direct eye contact with him, the younger man’s eyes always moving to Evie or to his mother or to the curtain fluttering at the window. 

“Oh, of course.” Evie once again kept the flow of conversation from lingering too long in silence. “I’d like to compare notes with your impressions from when Father was still alive if you don’t mind. We were sort of isolated from any other members of the Brotherhood out in Crowley.” 

Arbaaz looked taken aback but nodded approvingly. Of course, he’d approve, Henry thought. He was rather adamant that the British Brotherhood was weak and ineffectual when Henry had been training after Ethan returned to England. Pyara nudged her husband’s side and interjected, “I presume that we’d discuss the impending nuptials at some point as well.”

Henry glanced at Evie out of the corner of his eye, noting how her cheeks took on a faint rosy hue. He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “We will. Evie had some questions regarding our own customs, and I can only answer so many of them, seeing that I only sat quietly during ceremonies and didn’t participate in them.” 

“Bored little boys are rarely the best judges of proper etiquette, no matter how well taught they are.” The corner of Pyara’s lip rose in a gentle smirk as she regarded her son and his intended bride. The carriage came to a stop before the princess could continue, and the door opened with Rooks at the ready to help the foursome out of the carriage and into the house they’d be occupying for the next few months. 

Henry could smell the beginnings of a fire being made in the grand fireplace in the sitting room as the Rooks carried his parents’ trunks into the house and up the stairs to their bedroom. He felt a light touch on his hand, and Henry turned to see his mother standing at his side. 

“This house is far too large for just myself and your father, sweetheart. We would be more than happy to have you and Evie stay with us as well.” 

The younger Indian Assassin remained quiet as he considered his mother’s offer. Evie interjected as he cursed inwardly, “We’d be glad to join you. I’m sure Henry would be glad at the chance to be near his family again.” 

“Wonderful!” Pyara answered. “Please consider the invitation extended to Jacob and George as well. The more, the merrier, of course.” She seemed so pleased that she seemed to glow in the waning afternoon sunlight. 

There must be a conspiracy, Henry decided, as Evie squeezed his arm and walked off in search of her brother and the eldest British Assassin. Evie was correct that he was glad to be near his family again or, at least, certain family members. His mother would always hold a special place in his heart as he would in hers. His father was a different story altogether. He’d nearly worshipped Arbaaz for the first two-thirds of his life, and Arbaaz had adored him as much as any father could adore his son up until, well…. 

Henry shook himself out of his reverie. He would need to pack clothing and other necessary items, and Evie would need to get her things as well. He’d miss the relative privacy they had above the curiosity shop. 

A sudden warm callused hand covered Henry's mouth as a forearm snaked across his chest from behind, yanking him inside a bedroom as he walked down the hall. Fighting down a frisson of terror, Henry braced his left hand on top of his right fist and elbowed his attacker hard in the stomach twice in quick succession, resulting in a groan which confirmed that he had been accosted by his own father.

Luckily, Henry thought, his father wouldn't be able to see how his son snarled as he pried Arbaaz's hand from his mouth and wrenched out of his father's grip. Certainly, Arbaaz could have countered, he was sure, but his father seemed to be content to let Henry think he'd bested his own father for a moment or two.

“You could have just asked to speak with me instead of making me think that someone was trying to kidnap me,” Henry hissed. The room was dim, so he could only see a hint of the dour look on his father's face.

“And you could stop avoiding any attempt to discuss what role you've played in overthrowing the Templars,” Arbaaz retorted, his voice even and low and obviously straining to remain so. “It's become tiresome.”

“What role? I did nothing of note.”

“George Westhouse seems to think otherwise.”

“You'll have to forgive me, Father. Brother George seems to have lured you here under false pretenses. I assure you that Evie and Jacob did the bulk of the work while I played at being a shopkeeper.” Bile rose in Henry's throat, and he turned away from his father.

Arbaaz's presence still comforted Henry in a strange way even if he suspected his father wanted anything but to soothe his son's troubled heart. He felt the warmth against his back as Arbaaz's hand, the one that activated his hidden blade if he so chose, alighted on Henry's shoulder.

“According to his letter, you did more than that. Even in the short conversations that we've had since we arrived in London earlier today, every time that anyone, not just Brother George, has attempted to give you any sort of credit for this operation, you've quieted them. Even your own future wife, who, by the way, does not strike me as a frivolous woman given to flights of fancy,” Arbaaz whispered, leaning close enough to his son to evoke a faint memory of the last time they'd stood like this.

In an alleyway in Amritsar, outside of a warehouse next to Tjinder Dani's home. Where his father had whispered, “Peace be with you, and good luck.” Then everything had gone so terribly wrong.

Henry fought to keep his own voice from trembling even though the tension was writ large across his shoulders. “Father, you know as well as I do that when someone desperately wants something to be true, they will believe it with every fiber of their being, regardless of evidence to the contrary.”

He felt his father's grip tighten on his shoulder as Arbaaz growled, “The Council is willing to lift your exile if your role in this operation was a substantial one.”

Then slowly, his father's voice took on a soft, gentle quality that Henry had not heard since he was a small boy and Arbaaz would comfort him after a particularly nasty dream. “Don't you want to come home, Jay?”

Dearly, he wanted to say. Henry still longed for the scent of jasmine to fill his senses again, the lumbering gait of elephants as they paraded down the streets of the city during festival days, and the praise that his father had lavished upon him before Ethan Frye had arrived to take over his tutelage as an Assassin. Now, he had Evie to consider, and Henry doubted that she'd want to be separated from her twin for too long.

Finally, Henry replied, cautious as he removed Arbaaz's hand from his shoulder, “Wanting and being able to do so are two very different things. I've wanted to go back ever since I came here eight years ago.”

“You don't think your role was substantial enough to warrant the exile being lifted then, Jay?”

Henry shook his head. “You know in your heart that it wasn't, Father.” He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry.”

The younger Assassin lingered in the darkened bedroom for a moment before taking his leave, half expecting his father to follow behind him and half hoping that Arbaaz would proclaim that Henry was wrong and would embrace his son with great pride.

Neither happened, and for all Henry knew, Arbaaz remained thoughtfully in the darkness while Henry retreated to the safety of the sitting room with his mother and Evie. He offered his arm to his future bride, and with a parting kiss to his cheek from Pyara, Henry fled the formerly haunted house, its interiors now teeming with his own personal joys and sorrows wrapped up in his family’s forms.


End file.
